Chapter XXVII: A Little Hope

“I don’t think I care about lying down again,” Rip sighed. “The next one that happened to come along would be liable to park on my chest.”

“You’re darn lucky it wasn’t a rattler or you wouldn’t be here to give a hang where the next one parked!”

“What kind of a snake was it?”

“How in the name of Johanna do I know! Do you think I’ve got eyes like a cat or do you think I stopped to affectionately examine it?”

“Tut! I feel as though I’m wet clear to my heart and I’m getting thirstier by the minute.”

“Don’t mention it, Rip. I only hope it gets light soon so we can get the lay of the land again and feed on some more berries. They’re individualists when it comes to the food line here--no competition.

“The bushes ought to be good and wet from all this rain and that’ll be a little moisture, anyway. Gee, I’ll never use the word berries in slang any more, Wes. They’ve certainly been a life-saver, but we’ll be getting fed up on them after another day. Suppose we haven’t found our way out by to-morrow night?”

“Well, we haven’t then. What’s the use of worrying about it until then?”

“I suppose that’s the best way to look at it. You’ve ten times more nerve than I’ll ever have!”

Westy liked that frankness in Rip. Despite his sullen stubbornness at times, he’d at least admit when he was beaten.

Morning came again--raining, and they started to walk on, Westy, the keen edge of his hopes dulled a little, but still outwardly cheerful and Rip silent in his disappointment.

After devouring more berries they went on, trying not to think of the imperious demand of their thirst, and as the morning wore on they became tired and stopped to rest again.

“Doesn’t seem to be many berries around here, Rip! I’m getting hungry again. Shall we go ahead?”

“I don’t care. Whatever you say; but for my part, I’m kind of sick of them. I’ve got to have water, Wes, that’s all there is to it!”

“I know, Rip, but that is stagnant water--it’s dangerous and vile!”

But Rip had come to the point where Nature was forcing him and made him fearless of the danger of anything, for before Westy had finished warning him he was down on his knees, taking draught after draught of the green-looking water in his small cupped hands.

Westy shuddered as he watched the stuff drip through Rip’s fingers and hoped he would be given the strength to refrain from drinking it for a while at least.

They trudged on again, hardly caring now where they went, and Rip stopping at intervals to consume more and more of the putrid water in spite of Westy cautioning him to stop.

Shivering though they both were, in their wet garments, Westy noticed a decided hectic flush upon Rip’s face and it worried him.

It was getting dark again, and still no lull in the storm, but Westy’s weary-looking eyes brightened as he caught sight of something ahead.

“Look, Rip, old top! On the ground!”

“What is it?”

“Our tracks--from yesterday!”