Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/276

It was one of the little shallow pans, semi-artificial, known to the aborigines. They fill drop by drop, they never fail entirely, but a camel can easily drink one of them dry for the time being. Someone had been here on a camel quite recently, as the cushiony footmarks showed, and there was hardly more than moisture in the sand-pan, scarcely enough to wet Tony’s lean black-bearded face as he thrust it down, nuzzling for drink like an animal.

The disappointment was horrible. He could not think clearly; at first everything seemed to vanish like a blown candle-flame; he probably fainted. Then the moisture took effect, and he sat up, a little stronger. He looked at the camel-tracks. Fairly fresh they were, anyone could see that, but he could not tell when they were made. There had been no wind to blur the marks with sand. He wondered what they meant. He could see them approaching the water-hole from the direction of Tanami, and then they headed south. Well, it didn’t matter much, now that the man was gone! The point was that he would have to wait hours for a decent drink, and long, long hours to fill his water-bag. Damn all camels! And how near was Tanami? He had entirely lost count of distance.

The waiting was slow torture, but it was certainly much better for him than an unlimited supply of water would have been, for his self-control was badly shaken, and he was not in a state to be moderate of his own free will. The rest was good for him too. As he portioned out his scanty rations he realised that with care he could make them last three days. He also knew very keenly that he could eat them all in one meal, and yet he did not suffer much from hunger; thirst had killed that.

If he could have kept up his earlier pace it would have been two nights’ walk to Tanami; as things were, it took him the better part of four nights to reach a point seven miles outside the township, where some miners picked him