The weather, too, which had recently been frosty, was now oppressively warm, and there was a great scarcity of water, insomuch that a valuable dog belonging to Mr.
M'Kenzie died of thirst.
At one time they had twenty-five miles of painful travel, without a drop of water, until they arrived at a small running stream.

Here they eagerly slaked their thirst; but, this being allayed, the calls of hunger became equally importunate.

Ever since they had got among these barren and arid hills where there was a deficiency of grass, they had met with no buffaloes; those animals keeping in the grassy meadows near the streams.

They were obliged, therefore, to have recourse to their corn meal, which they reserved for such emergencies.

Some, however, were lucky enough to kill a wolf, which they cooked for supper, and pronounced excellent food.
The next morning they resumed their wayfaring, hungry and jaded, and had a dogged march of eighteen miles among the same kind of hills.