And yet this was the same boy who had devoured almost as much of that cooked venison at noon on the second day previous, as his two chums combined; followed that up with a hearty supper; then a breakfast and a lunch on the day they pushed out on the desert, and finally finished what food he had with him on the preceding evening. Still, he was frightfully hungry, just as boys who never have missed a regular meal in all their lives, do get, when up against it for a change. Billie plodded on. The sun was now an hour high, and getting very hot, he thought, as he stopped to drop his burden and rest; while he took his red bandana handkerchief and mopped his streaming brow with it. “I wonder how long I can hold out this way?” he asked himself, with a most forlorn air, and a dismal shake of the head. “If I only had some dried beef, or venison like the Injuns call pemmican, to gnaw on, it wouldn’t be so bad; because then I’d keep my strength; but seems like there’s a gnawing inside me like my appetite was beginning to start on my vitals. I wonder if all starving people feel that way first. Oh! how ashamed I ought to be about the many times I’ve thrown away good crusts of bread, and such things. I’ll never be guilty of such a sinful waste again, so help me. I’ve reformed, I have, and I’m going to lead a different life after this, licking my platter clean every time. If I only had some of the stuff I’ve wasted right now,” and he fairly groaned as the delightful array came before his mental vision to tantalize him. All at once Billie seemed to feel an electric flush. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again, as though fearing that he was dreaming. Why, that peculiar haze, which is so often met with in dry seasons of the late summer, and hides the features of the landscape even within a mile of the observer, had apparently mysteriously lifted, so that he could see hills ahead; yes, and at no great distance either, the green trees looking like heavenly dashes of color after his eyes had been so long accustomed to only that deadly white of the desert. “It is, I really and truly believe it must be my goal!” he exclaimed, almost in passionate delight. “Oh! there may be a chance for me yet; unless this is just one of them mirages they say dying men always see on the desert, before the end comes. But I must press on. One more notch I’ll take my belt up, and after that you watch me toddle for that Paradise ahead. Oh! don’t it look inviting, though? Will poor old Broncho Billie ever live to reach it?” He did press resolutely on, although the heat began to tell upon the fat boy very seriously. It seemed to Billie that he was baking, yet he was that stubborn he refused to drop his blanket, or gun, or the first thing he was carrying like a pack horse.