At last the hour came when Sidney judged it was dark enough for them to
venture out. He did not think it necessary to wait until late at night,
for as soon as they could leave the house they would climb a little
way up the mountain and then pass along the slope at some distance
above the village. Moreover, all the houses opened toward the valley,
and like their place of refuge had no windows facing the mountain. It
seemed, then, that there would be little danger of discovery as soon as
it was dark enough to prevent their being seen at a distance.
The boys rolled up their blankets and disposed of their packs to the
best advantage for traveling, then left their shelter with feverish
haste in their longing to reach water. The mountain along which they
had to pass was bare, as all southern slopes are in Eastern and Central
Daghestan. With practically no growth of bushes, and with only broken
rocks to retard them, their way was not difficult, even in the dark,
and they made good progress.
Sidney again proved himself to be a good prophet, for their departure
was not seen, and no one appeared to stop them. They stumbled along in
the dark over the rocky surface, and soon were beyond what seemed to
be the extreme limit of the village. However, to insure security, they
went half a mile farther, and then descended to the valley.
At the foot of the mountain they encountered a well-traveled trail,
but as it was plain that they had not yet reached the lowest level of
the valley, they decided to continue a little farther on the same line
in the hope of finding water. So they went straight forward and soon
crossed the wash of a stream, but alas! it was dry. They thought it
might be that it was only a tributary wash and that they had not yet
come to the main stream, and they went on, only to realize after a
little that they were climbing an ascent. That convinced them, with a
shock, that they had, indeed, crossed the bottom of the valley without
finding water.
“What shall we do, Sid?” asked Raymond with a tremble in his voice.
“We must go back to the trail and follow that up to the mountains. The
stream probably doesn’t flow much below the mouth of the cañon, and
when we get up there we’ll find it.”
“I hope so,” said Raymond, in a tone that contradicted his words.
They turned back on their course, crossed the wash again, and climbing
a gentle rise reached the trail. Turning into that to the left they
plodded doggedly on. They had encountered only one trail, and as that
was well traveled, they had assumed that it must be the main road into
the mountains, therefore the one they wanted. So they followed it
without hesitation.
As they proceeded they entered more directly under the brow of the
mountains and the darkness increased. The trail was so well defined,
however, that they had no difficulty in following it, even when they
could not really see the road they were traveling. On and on they went,
with only one thought, to hurry forward, the sooner to reach water.
The boys had eaten nothing since early in the day, for after they had
become so thirsty they could not endure the thought of dry food. And
they ate very little the day before while in the jail, for even when
there was water to assist, the food they had was very unpalatable. So
their strength was failing greatly, though they hardly realized it,
even unconsciously, and certainly did not think about it, in their
frenzy to reach the mouth of the cañon where they expected to find
water.
The two raced on at a speed which, under ordinary conditions, and
without the stimulus of an overpowering desire, would have soon
exhausted them. They kept the trail in the dark with the instinct that
is shown by animals, rather than by any exercise of reason, and they
paid no attention to its direction so long as they were advancing, as
they supposed, to water. With the terrible disappointment they had
experienced in finding a dry wash where they had expected a stream,
their desire for water had increased so greatly as to be fairly
consuming, and left no room for any other thought.
Suddenly Sidney, who was in the lead, stopped short,--so suddenly in
his swift course that his brother plunged forcibly against him. When
Raymond had recovered his balance he asked anxiously, in a strained,
unnatural voice,--
“What’s the matter, Sid?”
“See that trail!” replied Sidney.
Raymond stooped and peered at the ground in the darkness. The trail
turned back at a sharp angle and ascended in almost the opposite
direction, plainly the first turn of a switchback that climbed the
mountain.
“That means we’re on the wrong road,” said Sidney. “I’m sure the road
we want doesn’t go up over the mountain like that, and, anyway, we
shan’t find water this way.”
“Then we’ll have to go back,” said Raymond in a hopeless tone, “and
hunt for another trail.”
“It’s a long way,” said Sidney doubtfully. “I think we must have been
tramping fully two hours, and after we found another trail we’d have to
follow it up to water, maybe two hours longer. I doubt if we are equal
to that.”
With the new disappointment, after the great exertion that had preceded
it, the boys had nearly collapsed. Their legs gave way under them and
they sank to the ground.
“Sid!”--and there was a note of terror in Raymond’s voice--“maybe this
country is like Lower California, and there is no surface water.”
“It can’t be; there are so many people living here.”
“But perhaps the people in the village get all their water from wells.”
“That’s so; I never thought of that; maybe they do.”
“I’m going back to the village, Sid, for water.” And Raymond struggled
to his feet.
“We must not do a foolish thing, Ray, just because we feel desperate.
If we go back I don’t believe we’ll ever leave there alive. I think
there is water in the cañon above the village, too, for you know there
was running water where we camped below.”
Raymond hesitated, partly convinced by his brother’s reasoning.
“What do you propose to do?” he asked.
“I think it’s too far to go back by the trail,” replied Sidney, “and we
can’t get straight down the mountain in the dark. I blame myself for
not noticing that we were climbing quite a grade, but that can’t be
helped now, and really, I could hardly think of anything but water.”
“I can’t think of anything else now. You were not to blame, Sid, any
more than I was. We were simply frantic, both of us.”
“Don’t you think, Ray, that we could stay here till daylight? That
would be better than to blunder around in the dark, and wear ourselves
out, and perhaps break our arms and legs.”
Raymond stood without replying, and Sidney continued:--
“We can leave here just as soon as it is light enough to get down the
mountain. We can go straight down, then, and it probably won’t be more
than two or three miles. And I believe we’ll find water when we get
there, Ray. It will be flowing in the mouth of the cañon, if anywhere.”
“Can you stay here till morning without water, Sid?” asked Raymond
finally.
“I believe I can, because I think it’s the only thing for us to do. It
will be hard, I admit. I would rather have a drink now than anything
else under Heaven.”
Raymond threw his blankets down on the ground and began to unroll them
without speaking.
“Won’t you eat a little bread first, Ray?” asked his brother.
“No; I can’t eat.”
“I think we ought to eat something, though. If we don’t we’ll be so
weak by morning we shan’t be able to reach water. If we chew the driest
part of the bread very thoroughly we can swallow it.”
“All right,” said Raymond dully; “give me a piece.”
Sidney opened his knapsack, felt for the driest piece of bread, and,
breaking off the driest portion of that, handed it to Raymond. Then he
selected a bit for himself and they sat on their blankets and munched
the crusts. Even with the most faithful chewing they found it difficult
to swallow the morsels, but they persevered and managed to consume
nearly all of the pieces which Sidney had apportioned them.
Then they opened their blankets on the smoothest bit of ground they
could find in the dark, and huddled down in them. Neither boy felt like
talking. The reclining position was a relief, for their fatigue was
great, but the rest it brought was more a sort of apathy than sleep.
They had not been lying long when Raymond began to mutter and talk
unintelligibly and frequently started up violently. Sidney spoke to him
at such times, but was unable to attract his attention, so finally,
when the boy sprang up in such a frenzy, Sidney would reach out and
place his hand soothingly on Raymond’s shoulder or his hand, and that
always quieted him.
That occurred at such frequent intervals that it seemed to Sidney as
though it had gone on forever, and would continue without end. He would
no more than settle down in his blankets and sink into a delicious
stupor when Raymond would jump up and cry out, and he would have to
take hold of him to quiet him. So it went with almost mechanical
regularity until Sidney was dazed.
But extreme exhaustion at length prevailed and both boys lay without
moving. That change took place so near morning that when the boys had
become quiet they did not wake early as they intended. They did not
rouse at all until the sun shone hot upon them, then Sidney opened his
eyes. He could not remember at first where he was. His mouth felt queer
and stiff and uncomfortably full of something. He looked about, vaguely
at first, when his gaze rested on Raymond and it all came back to him.
He remembered their flight in the dark from the village, their having
taken the wrong road, and their failure to find water.
The thought of water brought Sidney’s mind back to his own condition
and he realized that the something which filled his mouth so
uncomfortably was his tongue, which was badly swollen. That realization
made him get up as quickly as he was able. He stood and looked down
into the valley. The trail which they had followed by mistake had taken
them along the side of the mountain until they were directly above
the gorge that narrowed from the upper end of the valley. Down there,
glistening in the sun, perhaps two miles away, Sidney saw a thread of
water. At the sight he started to plunge down the mountain to reach it,
but he had taken no more than two or three steps when he remembered
with a shock that he was leaving his brother behind.
With a crucial effort Sidney relinquished the thought of prompt relief
and turned back and spoke to Raymond in a voice that was thick and
unmanageable, but received no reply. Then he stooped and took hold of
him, but was obliged to shake him several times before he roused.
Raymond finally looked around and sat up, but did not seem to
comprehend what was wanted. Sidney tried to explain that there was
water in sight, but his voice was little more than a croak. At last he
succeeded in getting Raymond on his feet and started with him down the
mountain. Each boy wore his knapsack still slung over his shoulder, but
their blankets and cloaks they did not think about, and left lying on
the ground.
It was a difficult task that Sidney had before him. His own wits were
so befuddled by raging thirst that he could not think clearly, and it
was only by a supreme effort of the will that he could fix his mind on
a subject and keep it there. Two days and nights only without water,
but when his mind tried to go back to that last drink in the jail, it
seemed as though half a lifetime must have passed since.
Raymond was able to help himself very little; he could only stumble
forward when he was guided and supported by his brother. In that way
they proceeded slowly down the mountain slope. Sidney had almost
uncontrollable impulses to desert his brother and rush headlong down
the hill to the water which he knew was at its foot, but he had a dim,
undefined fear that if he did that he would not get back to Raymond
until it was too late. So he stuck by his brother and they went down
together.
Two miles is not far, and it was probably not more than that from the
place where the boys slept, or rather where they passed the night, on
the mountain, down to the bottom of the gorge. Moreover, the goal was
in plain view, and every step was down hill. But to Sidney, who was
nearly at the point of collapse, and who was burdened with his almost
insensible brother, the distance over the rocky, broken ground seemed
interminable.
The boys stumbled along, Sidney dragging his brother and sometimes
falling and picking himself up with difficulty. Raymond, too,
frequently fell over rocks and into holes, and was pulled up by his
companion. Each time that happened it became increasingly difficult to
put the boy on his feet again.
Hours, it seemed to Sidney, passed in the endless struggle. Finally,
however, they reached a point where the descent became abruptly much
steeper, the last nearly a perpendicular drop to the bottom of the
gorge. That was the hardest stretch of all. Down that declivity Sidney
went first, supporting his brother’s weight on his shoulders. It was
but little better than carrying an inert body, and the boy trembled
with the strain. But it came to an end, and with his nearly inanimate
burden he dropped on the sand at the bottom of the cliff.
Sidney lay there panting, his parched nostrils unable properly to admit
air to his lungs, and his mouth and throat so swollen and dry that but
little aid was possible that way. For a few moments he nearly lost
consciousness; then came a remembrance of the salvation that was so
near, and he struggled to his feet and staggered the few yards to the
little stream. Throwing himself on the ground, with his scooped hand he
dashed water into his mouth and over his face.
Oh, the blessed, indescribable relief that moisture gave! But with the
return of reason that it brought came the memory of his brother, and
with an almost superhuman effort of self-restraint, Sidney dipped up
water in his hat and went back to Raymond. Kneeling by the unconscious
boy’s side, he plunged his hand into the water and dripped the
life-giving fluid into Raymond’s mouth and over his face. Occasionally
he allowed himself the luxury of a sip, but he resolutely refused to
allow his own desire to interfere with his ministry to his brother,
until Raymond began to stir and opened his eyes.