At supper they measured out the water, half a cup for each. There
still remained a few inches in the cask. This was to be hoarded
against the next day. If Courant on his night journey could not strike
the upper trail and a spring they would have to retrace their steps,
and by this route, with the animals exhausted and their own strength
diminished, the first water was a twelve hours' march off. Susan and
Courant were silent, avoiding each other's eyes, torpid to the outward
observation. But the old man was unusually garrulous, evidently
attempting to raise their lowered spirits. He had much to say about
California and the gold there, speculated on their chances of fortune,
and then carried his speculations on to the joys of wealth and a future
in which Susan was to say with the Biblical millionaire, "Now soul take
thine ease." She rewarded him with a quick smile, then tipped her cup
till the bottom faced the sky, and let the last drop run into her mouth.
The night was falling when Courant rode out. She passed him as he was
mounting, the canteen strapped to the back of his saddle.
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