Frank Merriwell's Alarm: Doing His Best

Once more the bicycle boys pushed on westward, and it must be said that in spite of all their perils they were in the best of spirits.


The beautiful valley in Utah was left behind, and some time later found them on the edge of the great American Desert.


Water was not to be had, and they began to suffer greatly from thirst.


The thirst at last became so great that nearly all were ready to drop from exhaustion.


Toots was much affected, and presently he let out a long wail of discouragement.


“Land of watermillions! mah froat am done parched so I ain’t gwan teh be able teh whisper if we don’ find some warter po’erful soon, chilluns! Nebber struck nuffin’ lek dis in all mah bawn days—no, sar!”


“You’re not the only one,” groaned Bruce. “What wouldn’t I give for one little swallow of water!”


“We must strike water soon, or we are done for,” put in Jack.


Toots began to sway in his saddle, and Frank spurted to his side, grasping him by the arm, as he sharply said:


“Brace up! You mustn’t give out now. The mountains are right ahead, and——”