He had left me a little over two
gallons of water in one keg, and it may be imagined how glad I was to
get a drink. I could have drunk my whole supply in half an hour, but
was compelled to economy, for I could not tell how many days would
elapse before assistance could come: it could not be less than five,
it might be many more. After quenching my thirst a little I felt
ravenously hungry, and on searching among the bags, all the food I
could find was eleven sticks of dirty, sandy, smoked horse, averaging
about an ounce and a half each, at the bottom of a pack-bag. I was
rather staggered to find that I had little more than a pound weight of
meat to last me until assistance came. However, I was compelled to eat
some at once, and devoured two sticks raw, as I had no water to spare
to boil them in.
After this I sat in what shade the trees afforded, and reflected on
the precariousness of my position. I was sixty miles from water, and
eighty from food, my messenger could hardly return before six days,
and I began to think it highly probable that I should be dead of
hunger and thirst long before anybody could possibly arrive. I looked
at the keg; it was an awkward thing to carry empty. There was nothing
else to carry water in, as Gibson had taken all the smaller
water-bags, and the large ones would require several gallons of water
to soak the canvas before they began to tighten enough to hold water.
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