Digging for Gold: Adventures in California. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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      Overpowered with heat, and burnt up with thirst, those without water to moisten their parched lips and throats could scarcely keep pace with the guide. By degrees they threw away their possessions—their blankets, their clothes,—until the plain behind was strewn with them.

      “Don’t go so fast,” groaned one.

      “Won’t ye halt a while?” said another uttering a curse—then, suddenly changing his tone, he implored them to halt.

      “We cannot halt. It is death to halt,” said the guide, in a tone so resolute and callous that those who were enfeebled lost heart altogether, and began to lag behind.

      At that time the man Bradling, who had become nearly mad with drinking brandy, ran in succession to each of those who had water, and offered all that he possessed of the former for one mouthful of the latter. His flushed face, glassy eyes, and haggard air, told how terrible was his extremity; but although some might have felt a touch of commiseration not one was moved to relieve him. The law of self-preservation had turned the hearts of all to stone. Yet not quite to stone, for there were one or two among them who, although nothing would induce them to give a single drop to a comrade, were content to do with less in order that they might relieve a friend!

      One man in his desperation attempted to lick the bodies of the mules, hoping to obtain relief from the exudations of their skins, but the dust on them rendered this unavailing.

      Suddenly Bradling darted at the water-skin hanging by the side of the guide’s mule, and swore he would have it or die.

      “You’ll die, then,” observed the guide quietly, cocking a pistol and presenting it at his head.

      Bradling hesitated and looked at the man. There was a cold stony stare, without the least excitement, in his look, which convinced him that his attempt, if continued, would end in certain death. He fell back at once with a deep groan.

      Onward they pressed, hour after hour, until, in many of them, exhausted nature began to give way. They became slightly delirious, and, finding that they could not keep up with the party, a few determined, if left behind, to keep together. Among the number was Bradling, and terrible were the imprecations which he hurled after the more fortunate as they parted. It seemed cruel; but to remain with them would have done no good, while it would have sacrificed more lives. Bradling seemed to regard Frank as his chief enemy, for he shouted his name as he was moving off, praying God to send down the bitterest curses on his head.

      A sudden impulse moved the heart of Frank. He turned back, poured about half a wine-glassful of water into a tin can and gave it to the unfortunate man, who seized and drained it greedily, licking the rim of the can and gazing into it, to see that not a drop had escaped him, with an eagerness of manner that was very painful to behold.

      “God bless you,” he said to Frank with a deep sigh.

      “Do you think,” said Frank earnestly, “that God will curse and bless at your bidding?”

      “I don’t know, and don’t care,” replied the man, “but I say God bless you. Go away and be content with that.”

      Frank had already lost too much time. He turned and hastened after the others as fast as possible.

      “They won’t last long,” said the guide harshly, as he came up. “The wolves or the redskins will soon finish them. You were a fool to waste your water on them.”