CHAPTER XVI.
LOST IN THE BURNING DESERT.
Jack’s first thought when he rose to his feet had been, as we know, tosignal the Mexican whom he had left behind him, and try to assure himby sign language that he would do all in his power to bring rescuersto the valley. Not that the boy had any particular affection for theswarthy Alvarez; but naturally, with his warm, forgiving temperament,he hated the idea of leaving a fellow being behind without hope ofsuccor.
But the dark shadows of evening hid the valley from him, and the boywas forced to set forward without having had a chance to signal theMexican, or to witness a scene that would have interested him in anextraordinary degree, namely, the arrival of his chums and CaptainAtkinson.
Naturally enough, the first thing that Jack did when he found himselfat the top of the dread precipice was to look about him and see whatkind of country it was into which he had fallen, or rather, climbed.While it was rapidly growing dark in the valley below, the sun stillshone brightly on the heights above, although the luminary of day wasnot far from the horizon.
So far as Jack could see, the country round about was not dissimilar inthe main from that across the Border. It was a rolling country, grownwith bunch grass and here and there a ghostly–looking yucca stretchingits gaunt arms out against the sky. As far as the eye could reach thissort of country extended, except that in the distance was a purplishmass of what might have been either mountains or low–lying clouds.
But to the boy’s dismay there was not a sign of a human dwelling, norof anything to indicate that life existed in that dreary plain.
“Gracious,” thought Jack, “this is really serious. I feel weak for wantof food and I’m thirsty enough to drink a well dry. Surely, there mustbe some human beings in the vicinity. At least I’ll not give up hope.”
With a great sigh the boy struck out toward the east. He chose thisdirection because he thought it was as good as any other, and not forany particular reason. He trudged pluckily on across arid, rocky plainstill the sun sank in a blaze of copper and gold behind his back.
It was then, and not till then, that Jack gave way. He flung himselfdown despairingly on the hot ground under the cheerless arms of a hugeyucca.
“What is to become of me?” he cried in a dismayed tone. “What shall Ido? Evidently this part of the country is good for neither ranching ormining, and is uninhabited. I might tramp on for days without finding asoul to help me. Am I doomed to end my life in this dreary place?”
These and a hundred other gloomy thoughts flitted through the boy’smind as, utterly exhausted and unnerved, he lay on the ground beneaththe yucca. What were his chums doing? he wondered. No doubt by thistime a search party had been organized to seek for him, but Jackowned, with a sinking of the heart, that it was beyond the range ofpossibilities, almost, that they should ever find the Pool of Death andthe secret valley.
“No,” he owned with bitter resignation, “my bones will bleach in thisGod–forgotten place, and none will ever know my fate.”
Then he thought of his home and his father, the stalwart ranchman, andtears welled up in his eyes and a great lump rose in his throat.
“Oh, it’s hard to have to die like this,” he moaned, “and yet thereis nothing to be done. True, I may live for a day or two yet. I canstart out again to–morrow morning and go on stumbling along till I dropexhausted.”
It was at this bitter moment that a sudden recollection of a favoritesaying of his father’s came into the boy’s mind: “Never give up whileyou’ve a kick left in you.”
Jack thought of the bluff ranchman as the saying came back to him withpoignant force.
“Never give up while you’ve a kick left in you.”
“For shame, Jack Merrill,” he said half aloud, “for shame, to be givingup this way. You’ve a kick left in you, many of them perhaps. Whatwould your dad say if he saw you sitting down like a girl or a baby andgiving in before you had to? Don’t you dare to do it again.”
Having thus scolded himself, Jack felt somewhat better, though therewas still the great dread of a death in the desert upon him. But atleast some of his spirit had returned. He resolved to struggle on assoon as he was sufficiently rested.
With this determination in his mind, the boy tried to compose himselffor sleep. He knew that a good spell of slumber would refresh himalmost as much as food or drink. Thus he unconsciously echoed thesentiments of the philosopher who declared that “He who sleeps, dines.”
At any rate, the practical Jack Merrill wished to be at his bestwhen he started off once more on his wanderings, so he laid down andcomposed himself as comfortably as he could. Strange as it may seemthat he could sleep under such conditions, slumber he did, although allsorts of wild dreams beset his rest. At one moment he was toiling overa burning desert under a pitiless sun, calling aloud for water. Thenagain he was in the shade of a delightful group of trees while brightcrystal springs flashed and rippled. He was dreaming that he feltthe delightful cooling sensation of a cold plunge into one of theserivulets when he awoke with a start.
Above him the stars glittered coldly. The yuccas, like grim sentinels,outstretched their gaunt, semaphore–like arms against the night sky. Abreeze that seemed chilly after the heat of the day swept the dismalplain. The sensation of coming from that dream of cool green places tothat dry, desolate, stony waste gave Jack a fresh shock; but, true tohis determination to act as he knew his father would wish him to do,he shook off his gloomy depression and struck out once more toward theeast, taking his direction from the North Star, which he sighted bymeans of the “pointers” in the Dipper.
As he strode forward the poor boy whistled “Marching Thro’ Georgia”to keep up his spirits. But the tune soon wavered and died out. Hislips were too dry and cracked to make whistling anything but a painfulprocess. Thereafter he trudged along in silence. Soon a rosy flushappeared in the east, and before long the sun rushed up and it was anew day.
But to Jack the coming of the sun meant fresh disappointment. He hadhoped that with daylight he might perceive some house, however rough,or at least a road he could follow. But none appeared. He mounted tothe highest bit of rocky land he could find in the vicinity in the hopethat the elevation might aid him in surveying the country.
It did give him a wider outlook, it is true, but the extended range ofvision brought no glad tidings of civilization to the boy. Nothing butthat same dreary expanse of brush, yuccas, sand and rocks met his eye.
Jack set his teeth grimly. He faced the truth now squarely and withoutflinching. Unless by some miracle a human being came that way he wasdoomed. There was no evading the fact. Already his thirst had passedthe uncomfortable stage and had become a mad craving for water.
He tried cutting the yucca stalks and extracting some moisture fromthem. But though they yielded some acrid juice, it did little toassuage his pangs. It was about a mile from the spot where he hadmounted the little hill that Jack’s collapse came. For some timebefore he had been certain that his mind was acting strangely. He wasdistinctly conscious of another self, a second Jack Merrill walking byhis side. He talked wildly to this visionary being. His talk was likethe ravings of a boy in a high fever.
So weak had he become that the last mile had taken more than an hourto traverse. Hardly conscious of what he was doing, the boy had toileddoggedly on. But as the sun grew higher his strength grew less. At lasthis knees fairly buckled under him and he sank down in that stony,sun–bitten place, utterly incapable of further locomotion.
“It is the end,” he muttered, through scorched and blackened lips, ashe sank, “oh, great heavens, it is the end!”
The sun beat pitilessly down on his form as it lay there in thatshadeless expanse. Tiny lizards darted in and out among the scanty,dusty brush and glanced speculatively at him with their tiny brighteyes.
High in the burning blue vault of the sky a buzzard paused in itsceaseless wheelings, and, gazing down, saw that motionless form. By themagic that summons these birds of prey the sky abo
ve Jack’s still formwas soon filled with them.
For a time they swung round and round; but gradually the boldest, frommere dots high in the air, became great black–winged birds with foullooking heads of bare red flesh and hideous curved beaks. First oneand then another dropped to the ground a short distance from the boy’sform.
They hopped in a curious flopping fashion about him.
“Was the boy dead?” That was the question that they asked themselves asthey eyed his still form with greedy, deep–set eyes.
The Border Boys with the Texas Rangers Page 17