"I disremember them," he answered. "I hain't said none since
I was half the height o' that gun. I guess it's never too late.
You say them out, and I'll stand by and come in on the choruses."

"Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too," she said,
laying the shawl out for that purpose. "You've got to put
your hands up like this. It makes you feel kind o' good."

It was a strange sight had there been anything but the
buzzards to see it. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt
the two wanderers, the little prattling child and the
reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face, and his
haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudless
heaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread being with whom
they were face to face, while the two voices -- the one thin
and clear, the other deep and harsh -- united in the entreaty
for mercy and forgiveness. The prayer finished, they resumed
their seat in the shadow of the boulder until the child fell
asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her protector.
He watched over her slumber for some time, but Nature proved
to be too strong for him. For three days and three nights
he had allowed himself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the
eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, and the head sunk lower
and lower upon the breast, until the man's grizzled beard was
mixed with the gold tresses of his companion, and both slept
the same deep and dreamless slumber.

Had the wanderer remained awake for another half hour a
strange sight would have met his eyes. Far away on the
extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose up a little