ountry through which they traveled was familiar to Lewis, tedious
to the stranger. Sand, sparse grass, and thorn-trees; thorn-trees and
sand, was their daily portion. The sun beat down and up. They traveled
long hours by night, less and less by day. They talked little, for night
has a way of sealing the lips of those who journey under her wing.

Water was scarce. The day before that on which they hoped to make the
river, a forced march brought them to a certain water-hole. The
stranger, Lewis, and the guide arrived at it far ahead of the
pack-train. The water-hole was dry. They were thirsty. They pushed on to
a little mud house a short way off the trail. The stranger looked up as
they approached it.

"Do you think it will stand till we get there?" he asked.

Lewis smiled. The house was leaning in three directions. The weight of
its tiled roof threatened at any moment to crush the long-suffering
walls to the ground. At one corner stood a great earthen jar, and beside
the jar an old hag. She held a gourd to her lips. On some straw in the
shade of the eaves was a setting hen.

"Auntie," called Lewis, "we thirst. Give us water."

The old woman turned and stared at them. Her face, all but her eyes, was
as dilapidated as her house. Her black eyes, brilliant and piercing,
shone out of the ruin.

"I have no water for thee to drink, my pretty son," she answered.

"Shameless one!" cried Lewis. "Dost thou drink thyself and deny the
traveler?"

"Eh, eh!" cackled the old woman. "Thou wouldst share my gourd? Then
drink, for thy tongue is not so pretty as thy face." She held up the
gourd to Lewis in both her hands. He took it from her and passed it to
the stranger.

The stranger made a grimace, but sipped the water. Then he flung gourd
and water to the ground with; half an oath.

"Bah!" he said to Lewis. "It is salt."

"Salt!" cried Lewis. "But she drank of it. I saw her drink."

"Yes," said the stranger; "she's got an alkalified stomach. Let those
who hanker after immortality look upon this woman. She will never die."

The old hag laughed.

"Ah, shameless one, eh?" she mumbled. "'Tis the young one should have
tasted, but no matter, for the son is the spit of the father."

"Auntie," said Lewis, smiling, "give us of thy shade."

"Willingly, my pretty son, for thou hast smiled."

They dismounted. The stranger and Lewis entered the house.

"Here," cried the old woman, "sit here; for when the house falls, the
weight