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.