Alan stopped a little below and waited in anxiety. Before he could
ask whether it was the last ridge, Ned's voice broke out into a
shout.
"Come on, old man, we're all right. There's old Wilson, the
grandest mountain peak in the world. Hurrah for Mount Wilson!"
But there was no echo to his exclamation. Poor Alan, succumbing to
pain and exhaustion, had sunk insensible to the ground. In another
moment Ned was at his chum's side. Forcing some water between
Alan's lips and bathing his face with some more of the precious
liquid, Ned soon brought him back to consciousness. Alan sprang up
in chagrin, and with tears in his eyes insisted that he had only
stumbled and fallen. But Ned knew the truth. His friend's bright
eyes and feverish skin told that his condition was grave.
The unseen tears came to Ned's eyes, for it was at least thirty
miles to more water and the plains. And should they even reach the
Chusco, he could see only death in the desert.
"You'll feel better in the cool of the woods down there," said Ned
gently, "and maybe we can kill a rabbit.
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