st 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 damned pilgrim!" he breathed, softly. Minutes
passed as the two men sat silently side by side. The Texan spoke, as if
to himself: "It's a hell 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 passed 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