Digging for Gold | Page 7

pretty frequently to their
water-kegs and bottles. Even Bradling gave up his brandy, and was
content to refresh himself with the little of the pure element which
chanced to remain in his formerly despised, but now cherished,
water-bottle. The guides carried skins of water for themselves and the
mules, but these they opened very seldom, knowing full well the

torments that would ensue if they should run short before getting across
the scorching desert.
Thus they went on hour after hour, becoming more and more oppressed
at every step. The improvident among them drank up the precious
water too fast, and towards evening began to sigh for relief, and to
regard with longing eyes the supplies of their more self-denying
companions. They consoled themselves, however, to some extent, with
thoughts of the deep draughts they hoped to obtain at night.
Our hero and Joe were among those who reserved their supplies.
As night approached the thirst of the travellers increased to a terrible
extent, insomuch that they appeared to forget their fatigue, and hurried
forward at a smart pace, in the eager hope of coming to the promised
water-hole. Great, therefore, was their dismay when the guides told
them that it was impossible to reach the place that night, that the mules
were too much knocked up, but that they would get to it early on the
following day.
They said little, however, seeming to be too much depressed to express
their disappointment in words, but their haggard looks were fearfully
eloquent. Some of those who had wasted their supplies earnestly
implored their more prudent comrades to give them a little, a "very
little," of the precious element, and two or three were generous enough
to give away a few drops of the little that still remained to them.
The place where they had halted was without a scrap of vegetation, and
as there was no wood wherewith to kindle a fire, they were compelled
to encamp without one. To most of the travellers, however, this was a
matter of little importance, because they were too much exhausted to
eat. Those who had water drank a mouthful sparingly, and then lay
down to sleep. Those who had none also lay down in gloomy silence.
They did not even indulge in the usual solace of a pipe, for fear of
adding to the burning thirst with which they were consumed.
At day-break they were aroused by the guides, and rose with alacrity,
feeling a little refreshed, and being anxious to push on to the water-hole,

but when the sun rose and sent its dazzling rays over the dreary waste,
giving promise of another dreadful day, their spirits sank again. Seeing
this the principal guide encouraged them by saying that the water-hole
was not more than three miles distant.
Onward they pushed with renewed energy and hope. At last they
reached the place, and found that the hole was dry!
With consternation depicted on their haggard countenances the men
looked at the guide.
"Dig, men, dig," he said, with a troubled look on his bronzed face,
"there may be a little below the surface."
They did dig with shovels, spades, knives, sticks, hands, anything, and
they dug as never men did for gold. All the gold in California would
they have given at that time for a cupful of cold water, but all the gold
in the world could not have purchased one drop from the parched sand.
Never was despair more awfully pictured on men's faces as they gazed
at one another after finding that their efforts were unavailing. Their
case was truly pitiable, and they turned to the guide as if they expected
commiseration; but the case had become too desperate for him to think
of others. In a stern, hard voice he cried--
"Onwards, men! onwards! The nearest stream is forty miles off. None
of those who have water can spare a drop, and death lies in delay.
Every man for himself now. Onward, men, for your lives!"
Saying this he applied the whip to the poor mules, which, with glazed
eyes and hanging ears, snorted with agony, and dropped down
frequently as they went along, but a sharp thrust of the goad forced
them to rise again and stumble forward.
"God help the poor wretches," murmured Joe Graddy to Frank as they
staggered along side by side. "Is our supply nearly out--could we not
give them a drop?"
Frank stopped suddenly, and, with desperate energy, seized the keg

which hung over his shoulder, and shook it close to the ear of his
companion.
"Listen," he said, "can we afford to spare any with forty miles of the
desert before us? It is our life! we must guard it."
Graddy shook his head, and, admitting that the thing was out of the