The middle of the afternoon found them making fair progress onward, still in the valley, though Donald warned them that in all probability they would camp that night on the edge of the wide desert strip that lay between them and the region where the village of the cliff dwellers was located. “I’m getting awful thirsty,” remarked Billie, smacking his lips; “and this water we’re carrying along in the canteens is hot, and don’t seem to go right to the spot. I hope we’ll run across a good spring after a little while; because a nice cold drink would please me more’n I can tell you.” “Cheer up then, Billie, for chances are we’ll do that very same before a great while,” said Adrian; “because I saw where Donald here has got a mark on his map that means water, and we can’t be very far away from it right now.” Donald said nothing one way or the other, though Billie did cast an appealing look in his direction; he just kept on pushing ahead, and turning from time to time to take note of the country they were passing through, for his map was not very lucid, and wise Donald wanted to make sure he was right. Indeed, hardly ten minutes later Billie was heard to give an exclamation of delight and rapture. “There she is, fellows, and as fine a spring as you’d want to see in a ’coon’s age!” he went on to call out, in his explosive way. “And say, if somebody hasn’t gone and planted palms around it, too, just for all the world like the oasis you read about in stories of Africa. And just you watch me lower that same basin, when I get started. We’ve got to keep the ponies back, though, so they won’t muddy things up before we get our fill. See, they’ve scented water; you can tell it by the way they act.” Both Adrian and Donald smiled, for they had noticed this same thing some little time before. The acute sense of smell on the part of the animals had allowed them to know about the presence of water long before their masters were aware of it. “Hold on, take your time, Billie,” warned Donald; and somehow the other thought he said this in the queerest possible way. “Oh! I see how it is, you just don’t feel like making a rush, and think we all ought to be on a level footing,” Billie observed, with as near an attempt at irony as he could attain. “H’m makes me think of that story they used to tell about the parson and his little flock on the coast.” “What was that, Billie?” asked Donald.