lucky t'ing."

Tex regarded him with disapproval: "Climb onto your horse, old Calamity
Jane, an' we'll mosey along. A dry camp is better than this--at least
nobody can crawl around in their sleep an' drink a snifter of poison." He
helped Alice from the ground where she sat propped against a rock and
assisted her to mount, being careful to adjust the scarf over her nose
and mouth.

As the horses with lowered heads bored through the dust-storm the Texan
cursed himself unmercifully. "This is all your fault, you damned
four-flusher! You would run a girl--that girl, into a hole like this,
would you? You low-lived skunk, you! You think you're fit to marry her,
do you? Well, you ain't! You ain't fit to be mentioned in the same
language she is! You'll get 'em all out of here or, by God, you'll never
get out yourself--an' I'm right here to see that that goes! An' you'll
find that water-hole, too! An' after you've found it, an' got 'em all
out of this jack-pot, you'll h'ist up on your hind legs an' tell 'em the
whole damn facts in the case, an' if Win jumps in an' just naturally mops
up hell with you, it'll be just what you've got comin' to you--if he does
a good job, it will." Mile after mile the horses drifted before the
wind, heads hung low and ears drooping. In vain the Texan tried to
pierce the impenetrable pall of flying dust for a glimpse of a familiar
landmark. "We ought to be hittin' that long black ridge, or the soda
hill by now," he muttered. "If we miss 'em both--God!"

The half-breed pushed his horse close beside him: "We mus' got to camp,"
he announced with his lips to the Texan's ear. "De hosses beginnin' to
shake."