It took them five hours to do the twenty miles lying between the
watering-trough and the edge of the hills. A large part of the last
ten miles Hapgood did on foot, leading his astonished horse. And often
he stopped to rest, squatting or lying full length on the ground. It
was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when at last they came to the
second spring by the roadside. And here Hapgood sank down wearily,
muttering colorlessly that he could not and would not go a step
farther. And they were still forty miles to the nearest cabin and bed.

Conniston unsaddled the two horses, watered them, and staked them out
to crop the short, dry grass. And then he stood by the spring, smoking
and frowning at the barren brown hills. They had had nothing to eat
since early morning; they had not thought to bring any lunch with
them. And now if they spent the night here it would be close upon noon
on the next day before they could hope to find food. He looked
covertly at his friend, only to see him sprawled on the ground, his
head laid across his arm.

"Poor old Roger," he muttered to himself. "This is pretty hard lines.
And a night out here on the ground--"

He determined to wait until the cool of the evening and then to
persuade Hapgood to ride with him across the hills. It would be hard,
but it seemed not only best, but almost the only way. So Conniston
filled his pipe, thought longingly of the cigarettes he had left in
his suit-case at the hotel, and, lying down near Hapgood, smoked and
dozed in the warm stillness.

An hour passed. The shadow of the scrub-oak under which they had