"What shall we do?" she asked me in horror. For the first time I saw her
sit down in despair. "We are lost! What shall we do?" she wailed.
I trailed the missing horse for many miles, but could only tell he was
going steadily, lined out for some distant point. I dared not pursue him
farther and leave her behind. An hour after noon I returned and sullenly
threw myself on the ground beside her at our little bivouac. I could
not bear to think of her being reduced to foot travel over all these
cruel miles. Yet, indeed, it now must come to that.
"We have the dog," said I at length. "We can carry a robe and a little
meat, and walk slowly. I can carry a hundred pound pack if need be, and
the dog can take twenty-five--"
"And I can carry something," she said, rising with her old courage. "It
is my part." I made her a pack of ten pounds, and soon seeing that it
was too heavy, I took it from her and threw it on my own.
"At least I shall carry the belt," she said. And so she took my belt,
with its flask and bullet pouch, the latter now all too scantily filled.
Thus, sore at heart, and somewhat weary, we struggled on through that
afternoon, and sank down beside a little water hole.
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