You know the country--I don't. You are experienced in fighting this
damned 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 damn good one. I wondered what your trade
was. If I ever run foul of the law, I'll sure send for you, _pronto_.
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 pass 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 pass 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."