“Water!” Endicott cried, and Alice was sure she heard the dry click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  The girl saw that they were in a cavern formed by a mud crack whose walls had toppled together.  Almost at her feet was a small pool, its surface covered with a film of dust.  Endicott stepped toward it, but the Texan barred the way.

“Don’t drink that!  It might be a poison spring—­most of ’em are down here.  It’s the meanest death there is, the bellyache an’ cramps that comes from drinkin’ poison water.  Watch the horses.  If they will drink it, we can.  He led his horse to the pool into which the animal thrust his nose half way to the eyes.  Only a moment he held it there, then with a thrash of disappointment that sent the water splashing over the dust-coated rocks, he raised his head and stood with the water dripping in streams from his muzzle.  He pawed at the ground, shook his head wrathfully, and turned in disgust from the water-hole.

“Poison,” announced the Texan.  “We can rinse out our mouths with it an’ clean out our eyes an’ wash our faces, an’ do the same for the horses, but we can’t swallow not even a drop of it, or us an’ the angels will be swappin’ experiences about this time tomorrow.”  He turned to Alice:  “Ladies first.  Just take your handkerchief an’ wet it an’ swab out your mouth an’ when you’re through there’s a good drink of real water waitin’ for you in the flask.”

When she had done, the three men followed her example, and the Texan tendered the bottle: 

“Take all you need, there’s plenty,” he said.  But she would take only a swallow which she held in her mouth and allowed to trickle down her throat.  Endicott did the same and Bat, whereupon the cowboy replaced the cork to the bottle and was about to return it to his slicker when the girl caught his arm.

“You didn’t drink any!” she cried, but he overrode her protest.

“I ain’t thirsty,” he said almost gruffly.  “You better catch you a little rest, because as soon as we get these horses fixed up, we’re goin’ to pull out of here.”  The girl assayed a protest, but Tex turned abruptly away and the three fell to work removing the caked dust from the eyes and nostrils of the horses, and rinsing out their mouths.  When they finished, Tex turned to Bat.

“How far d’you reckon it is to the water-hole?” he asked.

The half-breed shrugged:  “Mebbe-so fi’ mile, mebbe-so ten.  I ain’ know dis place.  A’m t’ink we los’.”

“Lost!” snorted the Texan, contemptuously.  “You’re a hell of an Injun, you are, to get lost in broad daylight in sight of the Bear Paws.  I ain’t lost, if you are, an’ I tell you we camp at that water-hole tonight!”

Again the half-breed shrugged:  “I ain’ see no mountaine.  I ain’ see no mooch daylight, neider.  Too mooch de dam’ dus’—­too mooch san’—­too mooch de win’ blow.  If we com’ by de water-hole, A’m t’ink dat dam’ lucky t’ing.”