ALAN SUCCUMBS TO EXHAUSTION
The boys were up at dawn. Not an article had the marauders left but
the two water canteens which had fortunately been left hanging from
the low branches of a pine. It was useless to look for more--there
was nothing more to be found.
"Anyway," laughed Ned, "it leaves us in light marching order and we
can make better time. I'm glad we had a good supper."
As no breakfast was in sight the two boys filled the water bottles
at the creek in the valley, and at five o'clock, taking their
bearings due east, Ned and Alan struck upwards through the pine
woods. It was a not unpleasant climb while the boys were fresh, but
as the slope grew more precipitous the work began to tell. At one
o'clock the crest was reached.
"How would you like a piece of broiled bacon, some pancakes and a
cup of coffee, Ned?" asked Alan as they paused to rest.
"In the middle of the day and on the top of a mountain I always
prefer plain water," laughed Ned in reply. "Here's to you!"
With a big drink from the lukewarm canteens the boys did not pause
long.
"To-night," continued Ned, "we ought to sleep high up in the
foothills over there."
With that inspiration the sore-footed and jaded lads made good time
going down the slope. Then another rivulet was encountered, in
which they bathed and by which they rested a spell. Alan would have
been glad to pass the night here, but Ned urged him on, and as night
fell again the hungry, exhausted boys found themselves far up on the
new slope. Then they slept again, restlessly and on the rocky
ground, for they had abandoned their blankets.
The boys did not wait for daylight. In the half dawn they were
afoot.
"Take another hitch in your belt, chum, and don't think of the
Placida." laughed Ned. "We'll make it all right, somehow."
Stiff in limb, their feet twitching with the pain of blisters, Ned
and Alan toiled slowly through the last of the pines and out into
the rocky higher slopes of the range. It was like climbing an
upright wall, Alan said, but the pain of going on was less than the
despair of giving up. A little after six o'clock Ned, ahead, pulled
himself breathless to the highest point.
Alan stopped a little below and waited in anxiety. Before he could
ask whether it was the last ridge, Ned's voice broke out into a
shout.
"Come on, old man, we're all right. There's old Wilson, the
grandest mountain peak in the world. Hurrah for Mount Wilson!"
But there was no echo to his exclamation. Poor Alan, succumbing to
pain and exhaustion, had sunk insensible to the ground. In another
moment Ned was at his chum's side. Forcing some water between
Alan's lips and bathing his face with some more of the precious
liquid, Ned soon brought him back to consciousness. Alan sprang up
in chagrin, and with tears in his eyes insisted that he had only
stumbled and fallen. But Ned knew the truth. His friend's bright
eyes and feverish skin told that his condition was grave.
The unseen tears came to Ned's eyes, for it was at least thirty
miles to more water and the plains. And should they even reach the
Chusco, he could see only death in the desert.
"You'll feel better in the cool of the woods down there," said Ned
gently, "and maybe we can kill a rabbit. Hurrah, come on, Alan!
Brace up. It's all down hill, now. Here's for the woods and
broiled rabbit!"
In a new spurt of life another start was made and the two chums set
out down the slope. In one of Ned's hands was a rock. It was to be
the death warrant of any small animal, and his eyes were busy
examining each sheltered rocky nook and bush. Suddenly a feverish
hand caught his.
"Look," whispered Alan.
Ned's eyes followed his chum's gaze.
It was a spiral of thin smoke in the trees below.
With a shout, Ned sprang forward. Then he turned. Alan was
standing still. Ned's heart grew cold:
"See the smoke," Alan was repeating, "see the nice smoke. Maybe
it's a house on fire."
His friend was delirious. Ned flew to his side once more and again
his touch revived the exhausted boy. Almost five days of wandering
and the exhausting toil on the mesa had proved too much for the more
delicate Alan, and Ned realized with sickening horror that the
situation was critical.
"I'm all right, Ned," answered Alan when his chum was once more with
him; "just a little lightheaded. But that's all."
What was to be done? The smoke might be that of a forest fire. And
it might mean Indians. But even an enemy is welcome when starvation
and death confronts one. Almost at the end of his own resources,
the determined Ned forced himself into a last effort. He used no
words of persuasion, for Alan allowed Ned to take his hand, and
thus, silently and slowly, the two moved forward again. Perhaps
another half mile was made between rocks and down gullies and then
Alan exclaimed pitifully:
"It's no use, Ned, I can't, I can't. My feet." Burying his
fevered face in his hands, the boy wept, partly in pain and partly
because he knew that he was holding back his chum.
At such periods Ned Napier was at his best. With kind words he
sought to encourage his friend. He used the little water left to
bathe Alan's face, and the last of his shirt in binding anew his
friend's bleeding feet. He tried to joke and speculated on the
possibilities of the smoke beyond them, but it was without avail.
Poor Alan could not rise again. The fever of exhaustion was on him
and with a last appeal to Ned to leave him the boy threw himself on
the ground and fainted away.
There was no doubt now as to what was to be done. Unless he could
bring help to his friend in a short time Ned knew it would mean
death. And that meant death for both, for young Napier would never
abandon his friend. Like a drunken man Ned turned and stumbled
forward.