Lash, soberly.

"Shore it's April. Look where the sun is. An' can't you feel it's
gettin' hot?"

"Supposin' it is April?" queried Lash slowly.

"Well, what I'm drivin' at is it's about time you all was hittin' the
trail back to Forlorn River, before the waterholes dry out."

"Laddy, I reckon we'll start soon as you're able to be put on a hoss."

"Shore that 'll be too late."

A silence ensued, in which those who heard Ladd gazed fixedly at him
and then at one another. Lash uneasily shifted the position of his
lame leg, and Gale saw him moisten his lips with his tongue.

"Charlie Ladd, I ain't reckonin' you mean we're to ride off an' leave
you here?"

"What else is there to do? The hot weather's close. Pretty soon most
of the waterholes will be dry. You can't travel then.... I'm on my
back here, an' God only knows when I could be packed out. Not for
weeks, mebbe. I'll never be any good again, even if I was to get out
alive.... You see, shore this sort of case comes round sometimes in the
desert. It's common enough. I've heard of several cases where men had
to go an' leave a feller behind. It's reasonable. If you're fightin'
the desert you can't afford to be sentimental... Now, as I said, I'm
all in. So what's the sense of you waitin' here, when it means the old
desert story? By goin' now mebbe you'll get home. If you wait on a
chance of takin' me, you'll be too late. Pretty soon this lava 'll be
one roastin' hell. Shore now, boys, you'll see this the right way?
Jim, old pard?"

"No, Laddy, an' I can't figger how you could ever ask me."

"Shore then leave me here with Yaqui an' a couple of the hosses. We can
eat sheep meat. An' if the water holds out--"

"No!" interrupted Lash, violently.

Ladd's eyes sought Gale's face.

"Son, you ain't bull-headed like Jim. You'll see the sense of it.
There's Nell a-waitin' back at Forlorn River. Think what it means to
her! She's a damn fine girl, Dick, an' what right have you to break
her heart for an old worn-out cowpuncher? Think how she's watchin' for
you with that sweet face all sad an' troubled, an' her eyes turnin'
black. You'll go, son, won't you?"

Dick shook his head.

The ranger turned his gaze upon Thorne, and now the keen, glistening
light in his gray eyes had blurred.

"Thorne, it's different with you. Jim's a fool, an' young Gale has
been punctured by choya thorns. He's got the desert poison in his
blood. But you now--you've no