The Texan Part 33

He placed one of the empty tomato cans in his slicker, and as he was about to mount both Endicott and Tex shook his hand.

"Good luck to you, Bat," said Endicott, with forced cheerfulness. The Texan said never a word, but after a long look into the half-breed's eyes, turned his head swiftly away.

Both Tex and Endicott slept fitfully, throwing the blankets from their heads at frequent intervals to note the progress of the storm. Once during the night the Texan visited the horses. The three saddle animals stood hobbled with their heads close to the cut-bank, but the pack-horse was gone. "Maybe you'll find it," he muttered, "but the best bet is, you won't. I gave my horse his head for an hour before we camped, an' he couldn't find it." Tex sat up after that, with his back to the wall of the coulee. With the first hint of dawn Endicott joined him. The wind roared with unabated fury as he crawled to the cowboy's side. He held up the half-filled water flask and the Texan regarded him with red-rimmed eyes.

"This water," asked the man, "it's for her, isn't it?" Tex nodded.

Without a word Endicott crawled to the side of the sleeping girl and gently drew the blanket from her face. He carefully removed the cork from the bottle and holding it close above the parched lips allowed a few drops of the warm fluid to trickle between them. The lips moved and the sleeping girl swallowed the water greedily. With infinite pains the man continued the operation doling the precious water out a little at a time so as not to waken her. At last the bottle was empty, and, replacing the blanket, he returned to the Texan's side. "She wouldn't have taken it if she had known," he whispered. "She would have made us drink some."

Tex nodded, with his eyes on the other's face.

"An' you're nothin' but a d.a.m.ned pilgrim!" he breathed, softly. Minutes pa.s.sed as the two men sat silently side by side. The Texan spoke, as if to himself: "It's a h.e.l.l of a way to die--for her."

"We'll get through somehow," Endicott said, hopefully.

Tex did not reply, but sat with his eyes fixed on the horses. Presently he got up, walked over and examined each one carefully. "Only two of 'em will travel, Win. Yours is all in." He saddled the girl's horse and his own, leaving them still hobbled. Then he walked over and picked up the empty tomato can and the bottle. "You've got to drink," he said, "or you'll die--me, too. An' maybe that water ain't enough for her, either."

He drew a knife from his pocket and walked to Endicott's horse.

"What are you going to do?" cried the other, his eyes wide with horror.

"It's blood, or nothin'," answered the Texan, as he pa.s.sed his hand along the horse's throat searching for the artery.

Endicott nodded: "I suppose you're right, but it seems--cold blooded."

"I'd shoot him first, but there's no use wakin' her. We can tell her the horse died." There was a swift twisting of the cowboy's wrist, the horse reared sharply back, and Endicott turned away with a sickening feeling of weakness. The voice of the Texan roused him: "Hand me the bottle and the can quick!" As he sprang to obey, Endicott saw that the hand the cowboy held tightly against the horse's throat was red. The weakness vanished and he cursed himself for a fool. What was a horse--a thousand horses to the lives of humans--her life? The bottle was filled almost instantly and he handed Tex the can.

"Drink it--all you can hold of it. It won't taste good, but it's wet."

He was gulping great swallows from the tin, as with the other hand he tried to hold back the flow. Endicott placed the bottle to his lips and was surprised to find that he emptied it almost at a draught. Again and again the Texan filled the bottle and the can as both in a frenzy of desire gulped the thick liquid. When, at length they were satiated, the blood still flowed. The receptacles were filled, set aside, and covered with a strip of cloth. For a moment longer the horse stood with the blood spurting from his throat, then with a heavy sigh he toppled sidewise and crashed heavily to the ground. The Texan fixed the cork in the bottle, plugged the can as best he could, and taking them, together with the remaining can of tomatoes, tied them into the slicker behind the cantle of his saddle. He swung the bag containing the few remaining biscuits to the horn.

"Give her the tomatoes when you have to. _You_ can use the other can--tell her that's tomatoes, too. She'll never tumble that it's blood."

Endicott stared at the other: "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you had better wake her up, now, an' get goin'. I'll wait here for Bat. He's probably found the spring by this time, an' he'll be moseyin' along directly with water an' the pack-horse."

Endicott took a step toward him: "It won't work, Tex," he said, with a smile. "You don't expect me to believe that if you really thought Bat would return with water, you would be sending us away from here into this dust-storm. No. I'm the one that waits for Bat. You go ahead and take her through, and then you can come back for me."

The Texan shook his head: "I got you into this deal, an'----"

"You did it to protect me!" flared Endicott. "I'm the cause for all this, and I'll stand the gaff!"

The Texan smiled, and Endicott noticed that it was the same cynical smile with which the man had regarded him in the dance hall, and again as they had faced each other under the cottonwoods of Buffalo Coulee. "Since when you be'n runnin' this outfit?"

"It don't make any difference since when! The fact is, I'm running it, now--that is, to the extent that I'll be d.a.m.ned if you're going to stay behind and rot in this G.o.d-forsaken inferno, while I ride to safety on your horse."

The smile died from the cowboy's face: "It ain't that, Win. I guess you don't savvy, but I do. She's yours, man. Take her an' go! There was a while that I thought--but, h.e.l.l!"

"I'm not so sure of that," Endicott replied. "Only yesterday, or the day before, she told me she could not choose--yet."

"She'll choose," answered Tex, "an' she won't choose--me. She ain't makin' no mistake, neither. By G.o.d, I know a man when I see one!"

Endicott stepped forward and shook his fist in the cowboy's face: "It's the only chance. You can do it--I can't. For G.o.d's sake, man, be sensible! Either of us would do it--for her. It is only a question of success, and all that it means; and failure--and all that that means.

You know the country--I don't. You are experienced in fighting this d.a.m.ned desert--I'm not. Any one of a dozen things might mean the difference between life and death. You would take advantage of them--I couldn't."

"You're a lawyer, Win--an' a d.a.m.n good one. I wondered what your trade was. If I ever run foul of the law, I'll sure send for you, _p.r.o.nto_.

If I was a jury you'd have me plumb convinced--but, I ain't a jury. The way I look at it, the case stands about like this: We can't stay here, and there can't only two of us go. I can hold out here longer than you could, an' you can go just as far with the horses as I could. Just give them their head an' let them drift--that's all I could do. If the storm lets up you'll see the Split Rock water-hole--you can't miss it if you're in sight of it, there's a long black ridge with a big busted rock on the end of it, an' just off the end is a round, high mound--the soda hill, they call it, and the water-hole is between. If you pa.s.s the water-hole, you'll strike the Miszoo. You can tell that from a long ways off, too, by the fringe of green that lines the banks. And, as for the rest of it--I mean, if the storm don't let up, or the horses go down, I couldn't do any more than you could--it's cashin' in time then anyhow, an' the long, long sleep, no matter who's runnin' the outfit. An' if it comes to that, it's better for her to pa.s.s her last hours with one of her own kind than with--me."

Endicott thrust out his hand: "I think any one could be proud to spend their last hours with one of your kind," he said huskily. "I believe we will all win through--but, if worse comes to worst---- Good Bye."

"So Long, Win," said the cowboy, grasping the hand. "Wake her up an'

pull out quick. I'll onhobble the horses."

CHAPTER XVIII

"WIN"

Alice opened her eyes to see Endicott bending over her. "It is time to pull out," said the man tersely.

The girl threw off the blanket and stared into the whirl of opaque dust. "The storm is still raging," she murmured. "Oh, Winthrop, do you know that I dreamed it was all over--that we were riding between high, cool mountains beside a flashing stream. And trout were leaping in the rapids, and I got off and drank and drank of the clear, cold water, and, why, do you know, I feel actually refreshed! The horrible burning thirst has gone. That proves the control mind has over matter--if we could just concentrate and think hard enough, I don't believe we would ever need to be thirsty, or hungry, or tired, or cold, do you?"

The man smiled grimly, and shook his head: "No. If we could think hard _enough_ to accomplish a thing, why, manifestly that thing would be accomplished. Great word--enough--the trouble is, when you use it, you never say anything."

Alice laughed: "You're making fun of me. I don't care, you know what I mean, anyway. Why, what's the matter with that horse?"

"He died--got weaker and weaker, and at last he just rolled over dead.

And that is why we have to hurry and make a try for the water-hole, before the others play out."

Endicott noticed that the Texan was nowhere in sight. He pressed his lips firmly: "It's better that way, I guess," he thought.

"But, that's your horse! And where are the others--Tex, and Bat, and the pack-horse?"

"They pulled out to hunt for the water-hole--each in a different direction. You and I are to keep together and drift with the wind as we have been doing."

"And they gave us the best of it," she breathed. Endicott winced, and the girl noticed. She laid her hand gently upon his arm. "No, Winthrop, I didn't mean that. There was a time, perhaps, when I might have thought--but, that was before I knew you. I have learned a lot in the past few days, Winthrop--enough to know that no matter what happens, you have played a man's part--with the rest of them. Come, I'm ready."

Endicott tied the scarf about her face and a.s.sisted her to mount, then, throwing her bridle reins over the horn of his saddle as the Texan had done, he headed down the coulee. For three hours the horses drifted with the storm, following along coulees, crossing low ridges, and long level stretches where the sweep of the wind seemed at times as though it would tear them from the saddles. Endicott's horse stumbled frequently, and each time the recovery seemed more and more of an effort. Then suddenly the wind died--ceased to blow as abruptly as it had started. The man could scarcely believe his senses as he listened in vain for the roar of it--the steady, sullen roar, that had rung in his ears, it seemed, since the beginning of time. Thick dust filled the air but when he turned his face toward the west no sand particles stung his skin. Through a rift he caught sight of a low b.u.t.te--a b.u.t.te that was not nearby. Alice tore the scarf from her face. "It has stopped!" she cried, excitedly. "The storm is over!"

"Thank G.o.d!" breathed Endicott, "the dust is beginning to settle." He dismounted and swung the girl to the ground. "We may as well wait here as anywhere until the air clears sufficiently for us to get our bearings. We certainly must have pa.s.sed the water-hole, and we would only be going farther and farther away if we pushed on."

The dust settled rapidly. Splashes of sunshine showed here and there upon the basin and ridge, and it grew lighter. The atmosphere took on the appearance of a thin grey fog that momentarily grew thinner.

Endicott walked to the top of a low mound and gazed eagerly about him.

Distant objects were beginning to appear--bare rock-ridges, and low-lying hills, and deep coulees. In vain the man's eyes followed the ridges for one that terminated in a huge broken rock, with its nearby soda hill. No such ridge appeared, and no high, round hill. Suddenly his gaze became rivetted upon the southern horizon. What was that stretching away, long, and dark, and winding? Surely--surely it was--trees! Again and again he tried to focus his gaze upon that long dark line, but always his lids drew over his stinging eyeb.a.l.l.s, and with a half-sobbed curse, he dashed the water from his eyes. At last he saw it--the green of distant timber. "The Missouri--five miles--maybe more. Oh G.o.d, if the horses hold out!" Running, stumbling, he made his way to the girl's side. "It's the river!" he cried. "The Missouri!"

"Look at the horses!" she exclaimed. "They see it, too!" The animals stood with ears c.o.c.ked forward, and dirt-caked nostrils distended, gazing into the south. Endicott sprang to his slicker, and producing the flask, saturated his handkerchief with the thick red liquid. He tried to sponge out the mouths and noses of the horses but they drew back, trembling and snorting in terror.

"Why, it's blood!" cried the girl, her eyes dilated with horror. "From the horse that died," explained Endicott, as he tossed the rag to the ground.