earlier. Putting our horses to a lope we rode on until we came to his
empty canteen; and a little farther on to a discarded coat and shirt.
The tracks in the sand wavered like those of a drunken man.

"We'll find his shoes next," the Chief called to Ranger West; "and then
pretty soon the end of the trail for him. Can't go far barefoot in this
hot sand."

"Say," Ranger West shouted, "White Mountain, Poison Spring is just
around the bend. We'll find the poor devil flattened out there sure.
_You_ ride slow, Margie, and we'll hurry along."

I didn't say anything, but I hurried along too. This spring he spoke of
was strongly impregnated with arsenic. Even the wild burros shunned it;
but I hardly dared to hope this desperate man would pass by it. The men
rode over the expected shoes without stopping, but I got off of Tar Baby
and got them. I began to think I would stay a little way behind. I felt
rather weak and sick. Rounding the turn I could see there was nothing at
the spring, and in the distance a stumbling figure was weaving along.
The men were nearing him, so I spurred to a run. Every now and then the
man would fall, lie prone for a minute, then struggle to his feet and go
on. Suddenly my heart stood still. The figure left the trail and headed
straight for the edge of the precipice. The river had made itself heard
at last.

Ranger West turned Dixie from the trail and rode straight across the
plateau to where the man had disappeared behind a big boulder. The Chief
followed West, but I rode the trail and kept my eyes resolutely ahead of
me. I knew I couldn't endure seeing the man jump to certain death when
we were at his heels with water and life.

When I looked up again Ranger West had his rope in his hand widening the
loop. White Mountain was with him. They were ten or fifteen feet from
the man, who was lying on his stomach peering down at the water. As the
poor fellow raised himself for the plunge, with a quick flirt of his
wrist the ranger tossed the rope across the intervening space, and as
the noose settled around the man's arms White Mountain and the ranger
dragged him back from death.

He lay stunned for a space, then twisted himself over, and mumbled
through swollen, bleeding lips: "Is that really water down there?"

They helped him back into the trail and gave him a swallow from a
canteen. It took both the men to manage him, for with the first taste of
water he went raving crazy. He fought and cursed them