"Do you? Oh, my head's so muddly. Let's be quick and get back. I'm beginning to think now. Why, what wretches we are, drinking away here, and my father must be dying of thirst."

"Yes. Don't talk," cried Chris huskily. "Here, get to the other side of the mule and take hold of the bit."

Ned stared, but obeyed, and together they led the animal between them, wading farther into the lake, with the water gradually getting deeper, when as it grew breast-high Ned burst out with--

"Yes, the water seems to have melted something in my head, and I can think now. I say, are there any alligators here?"

"I don't know," replied Chris. "Perhaps.--Come on, you brute!" he roared, for the mule began to jib and refused to go any farther in when from its own natural buoyancy and that of the barrels its legs refused to touch the bottom.

Chris's fierce shout was accompanied by a heavy dig in the side from his knee, an act which Ned imitated with the result that the mule snorted, tossed up its head, and then lowered it, prior to kicking up its heels.

But in performing the evolution of lowering its muzzle its mouth went down into the cool water, and the opposition ceased in the enjoyment of drawing in mouthfuls of the limpid element, while with all four legs separated to the utmost, the animal now refused to move.

"You brute!" roared Ned.

But the mule was quite aware of that fact. It knew it was one of the most despised of brutes, and had been told so till it ceased to have any effect, while now that it was drinking, whip or spur, kick or blow would have had no effect.

"Never mind," cried Chris. "I know--we can manage." As he spoke he rapidly opened the tompion-like cover of one bung-hole, letting it rattle down by the side of the empty barrel and hang by its little bra.s.s chain, and then dragged at the barrel, trying vainly to bring the opening down to a level with the water.

"Oh, do something, Ned," shouted Chris. "We ought to be on the way back. Shove your barrel up as high as you can."

Ned thrust his shoulder under the side and forced the barrel up, and the wooden pack-saddle gave a little at the same time.

"That do?" he cried.

"Yes, splendid!" For by pressing down with all his force Chris got the opening level at last with the water, which began to stream in till its weight rendered the task less difficult, and by degrees the barrel kept its own position, the air within going out in strange hollow sounds as it was dislodged.

"Now I'm more than half full, Ned," cried Chris eagerly. "I'll hoist up my side while you draw your barrel down."

This task proved more difficult, but after a few tries a little water rushed into the empty receptacle. Then a little more and a little more, till Chris thrust upward with all his might, and the clear fluid ran in with a rush, till the mule raised its head, shook the drops from its muzzle, and whinnied.

Then, feeling far less buoyant from what it had drunk and the way in which the light barrels began to be turned into weights which kept it steady, there was no more resistance to being led in deeper, so that with very little effort the casks were lowered in turn till the water ceased to flow in, and the tompions were replaced and safely secured.

The water was now, at every movement made, pa.s.sing in little waves right over the mule's spine, and there it stood showing its teeth as if preparing to bite, but made no vicious effort, only stood blinking its eyes and turning its ears in all directions as if in the height of enjoyment.

As soon as the second barrel was secured, "full to the bung," the mule's head was turned.

"Go on!" shouted Chris, and it slowly walked out of the shallowing water, till it stood dripping on the sandy marge.

"Now," cried Chris, "I'm going to lead my mustang in as far as I can wade, so as to get regularly soaked, and it will freshen the beasts too."

"Yes, capital. Shall we take off the saddles?"

"No, we won't stop."

The ponies were led in till only their necks were out of the water, and then turned towards the sh.o.r.e; but they stopped twice to drink, and were approaching the spot where the mule stood, when Chris uttered a cry and caught at his saddle to save himself, his pony at the same moment making a plunge and snorting violently.

"What's the matter?" cried Ned anxiously.

"Some big fish struck at me suddenly. No, I know, it must have been a big alligator."

Ned's jaw dropped and his eyes opened very wide as he began to splash through the water as hard as he could go, the pony following willingly enough, but only to snort and plunge as a swell of water rose before them where the water was very shallow, and a dark, bark-like, glistening back was seen for a moment, followed by a tapering tail, as a reptile glided by.

"I wonder whether the brutes would bite," said Ned.

"I shouldn't like to trust them," was the reply. "But oh, what a change since last night," continued the boy, half-wild with delight, as the sun began to show a little over the edge of the horizon, flooding the world with golden light and turning the pale, silvery lake as it were into glowing fire.

The boys only glanced for a moment or two at the glorious scene before them of lake and undulating country backed by mountains. Then, after tying the trailing lariat about the mule's neck, they mounted their ponies, all dripping as they were, ready for the march to camp, but only to suffer a chill of misery as the same thought struck both--

Which was the way back?

"Why, we shall never find them!"

"Coming here as we did, fast asleep as we must have been," groaned Ned.

"The mule must have smelt the water far-off," said Chris, "and found the way here."

"Yes, but he won't find the way back to camp. What shall we do? What shall we do?"

There was a piteous, despairing ring in Ned's voice as he sat gazing woefully in Chris's eyes.

"We might go right away," said the latter thoughtfully, and then in a tone full of exultation, "We're a pretty pair," he cried; "look how plain the hoof-marks are in the sand. Why, we've only got to pick up the trail and follow it back. There, you go that way and I'll go this.

It can't be far away."

"No, of course not," cried Ned, urging his pony forward in the direction indicated, while Chris started in the other, keeping close to the water's edge, where the sand was firm.

But the mule was not going to be left alone, and followed Chris's mount.

Not for far. Within a hundred yards there were the hoof-prints of the animals, going straight into the shallow lake on one side and on the other leading straight away over the sandy plain, which here came right up to the water's edge.

"_Coo-ee_!" shouted Chris, and Ned came cantering back.

"Found the trail?" he cried.

"Yes, here it is, with the mule leading. That's where he walked right into the lake. And we've been abusing mules and calling them names ever since I can remember. Ned, I'll never be a brute to a mule again. Will you lead?"

"No. You found the trail. Go on, and I'll come last. As fast as you can."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

DESPERATE STRAITS.

Chris uttered a wild whoop of delight.

"Water! Water! Water!" he shouted. "Here we come!"

The announcement was intended for those he had left at the camp, but the words seemed to be lost in the immensity of s.p.a.ce. But he did not heed this, only pressed on, to halt at the end of a hundred yards for the others to come up. His pony had lowered its head as if recognising the track and started off at a canter; but Chris realised directly that the progress did not depend upon him but the mule, which at starting refused to go in advance of Ned, and stubbornly stood still, and no urging would make it move.