The girl stirred from her position, flinging
back her heavy hair with one hand, and looking up into his face with
eyes that read at once his disappointment.
"Have--have you any water left?" she asked at last, her lips parched
and burning as if from fever.
He shook the canteen dangling forgotten at his side. "There may be a
few drops," he said, handing it to her, although scarcely removing his
fixed gaze from off that dreary plain. "We shall be obliged to make
those trees yonder; there ought to be water there in plenty, and
possibly we may strike a trail."
She staggered to her feet, gripping his shoulder, and swaying a little
from weakness, then, holding aside her hair, gazed long in the
direction he pointed.
"I fairly shake from hunger," she exclaimed, almost angrily, "and am
terribly tired and sore, but I reckon I can make it if I 've got to."
There was nothing more said between them. Like two automatons, they
started off across the parched grass, the heat waves rising and falling
as they stumbled forward. Neither realized until then how thoroughly
that hard climb up the rocks, the strain of continued peril, and the
long abstinence from food had sapped their strength, yet to remain
where they were meant certain death; all hope found its centre amid
those distant beckoning trees.
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