Zack did, grabbed his wool hat and started to find that mystic pool, where only angels drink.
The moon rode high in the heavens, big as a wagon-wheel, clear as a mirror, and so very near that if Zack had carried a step ladder, he could have tickled the old man in the face. Zack himself was not tickled; he was disgusted at the Cameron servants.
"Huh!" he snorted; "dat's jes like a nigger. Fetch a bucket o' water for Cunnel out o' de fust ditch he come acrost." He paused beside the tiny canal that wound in and out among the shrubbery; it flowed sluggishly with muddy eddies and looked like streaky brown gravy.
"Dis must be whar he got it. Cunnel wouldn't let nary one o' his mules git washed in sech water ez dat."
So Zack paid no heed to a group of servants who rose from their haunches and salaamed; he passed the stables; passed the low hovels of the fellaheen. Through an opening in the hedge went a little ditch; so did Zack.
Without difficulty he located the lone palm which he and the Colonel had observed from the boat, and figured that the spring must be some fifty yards behind it. This distance he had pledged himself to step off and measure, so as to prove the Colonel's bet. Starting from his landmark, Zack commenced stepping and measuring—twen
