This question was on everybody's lips. It was learned that there was, or had been, a small creek six miles further along the trail, but whether this was still running or had dried up during the summer nobody could tell. "Well, we may as well go on," said Mark. "Every minute wasted here only makes matters worse. The quicker we get to some kind of water the better it will be for us." "That's true," said Bob. "Forward it is," and he led the mule around half a dozen turnouts ahead of them. "You'll die on the trail!" cried several. "Better turn back to where you came from." "No, we are bound for California," cried Si. "California or bust!" added Mark, and Bob said the same. Josiah Socket was on hand, looking the picture of misery. His family were close at hand, and for a wonder Mrs. Socket had little or nothing to say. "I think I'll go back," said Socket, dolefully. "We can't afford to die of thirst like this." "Might as well go ahead," said Maybe Dixon. "May be more water ahead nor behind." And then Socket concluded to advance, although with a look on his face as if going to his execution. The advance was slow, for the trail was frightfully cut up and full of rough spots. They had gone less than three miles when without warning a wheel came off, letting down one corner of the wagon and spilling some of the outfit to the ground. [Illustration: WITHOUT WARNING A WHEEL CAME OFF.] "More troubles!" groaned Bob. "Beats all how they seem to be piling up!" "Is the axle broken, or the hub?" asked Si, anxiously. "No, only the nut came off," said Mark. "And where is the nut?" "Here's the nut!" cried one of the Socket boys, who was trudging on behind them. The wheel was put into place again and the nut fastened with the wrench they had brought along. Then they picked up what had fallen out of the wagon and put it in place. All were so tired, hot, and thirsty they did not feel like doing a thing. But Mark braced them up. "Come, boys, we must get some ginger in us, if we expect to win out!" he cried. "There must be water ahead. Let us tramp on until we reach it." "Forward it is!" echoed Si, faintly. "But say, I'd give 'most anything for a dipperful o' water, or buttermilk!" "I draw the line on buttermilk," said Mark, who knew little of farm life and did not care for the beverage mentioned. At last they came in sight of the creek--or rather where the creek had been. The watercourse was moist but that was all. What little water it had contained had been used up days before. "Dished!" said Bob, laconically. "The worst luck yet," murmured Mark. "Not a smell," came from Si. "I thought we'd get something, even if it was pretty riley." "Onward it is," said Maybe Dixon. "Don't stop to cry over spilt milk." "That's the talk," said Mark, and they went on as before.