The country is an arid one and unless wealth should appear
in the shape of mines, the country can never be inhabited. We considered
ourselves very fortunate in finding the little pools and holes of water
which kept us alive. It was not very good drinking water, but to us
thirsty folks it was a blessing and we never passed it by on account of
any little stagnant bitter taste. Salt water we could not drink of
course, though we sometimes used it to cook with.
We were as well prepared next morning as possible for a move, and the
long walk before us, the last one between us and the fertile land. They
all talked of how delighted they would be to see once more a running
brook, green grass and trees, and such signs of life as they had seen
and been used to in the good land they had left behind. The women said
they could endure the march of four or five days, if when all over, they
could sleep off the terrible fatigue and for once drink all the pure
sweet water they could desire. No more forced marches. No more grey
road, stretching out its dusty miles as far as the eye could reach. The
ladies thought the oxen would be as happy as themselves, and the little
mule, the most patient one of the whole train deserved a life of ease
for her valuable services. This little black, one-eyed lady wandered
here and there at will seeking for grass, but never going astray or
getting far enough from the track to alarm us in the least. She seldom
drank much water, was always ready, never got foot-sore, and seemed made
expressly for such a life and for such a desert.
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