"He died--got weaker and weaker, and at last he just rolled over dead.
And that is why we have to hurry and make a try for the water-hole,
before the others play out."

Endicott noticed that the Texan was nowhere in sight. He pressed his
lips firmly: "It's better that way, I guess," he thought.

"But, that's your horse! And where are the others--Tex, and Bat, and
the pack-horse?"

"They pulled out to hunt for the water-hole--each in a different
direction. You and I are to keep together and drift with the wind as
we have been doing."

"And they gave us the best of it," she breathed. Endicott winced, and
the girl noticed. She laid her hand gently upon his arm. "No,
Winthrop, I didn't mean that. There was a time, perhaps, when I might
have thought--but, that was before I knew you. I have learned a lot in
the past few days, Winthrop--enough to know that no matter what
happens, you have played a man's part--with the rest of them. Come,
I'm ready."

Endicott tied the scarf about her face and assisted her to mount, then,
throwing her bridle reins over the horn of his saddle as the Texan had
done, he headed down the coulee. For three hours the horses drifted
with the storm, following along coulees, crossing low ridges, and long
level stretches where the sweep of the wind seemed at times as though
it would tear them from the saddles. Endicott's horse stumbled
frequently, and each time the recovery seemed more and more of an
effort. Then suddenly the wind died--ceased to blow as abruptly as it