CHAPTER VIII.
WHEN THE PEDDLER WAS "FRISKED" It was a hot and dusty road that lay before them when they again took up their march that day.
Yet Dick Prescott insisted that, despite the late start, they must count upon covering twenty miles for that second day.
At night they halted on the edge of woods so far from the nearest farm house that Prescott did not consider it necessary to hunt up the owner and ask permission.
"Now, we'll have to see if we can find water here," Dick proposed.
"Let's scatter, and the fellow who finds drinkable water must let out a yell to inform the others." "I'll save you some trouble," Reade offered.

"You fellows needn't hunt water at all.

Give me the buckets and I'll go and get it." "Have you been in this part of the country before ?" asked Dick.
"No; and I don't need to have been here before in order to know that this ground is full of water," replied Reade, who was full of practical knowledge of that sort.

"If I were a civil engineer, out with a field party, I'd mark this section 'water' on the map.
Look at the ground here under the trees.

It's as moist as can be." Tom departed, but barely two minutes had elapsed when he was back with two pailfuls of water as clear as crystal.
"It's nearly as cold as ice water," Tom announced.