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.”

“How far can they go?”

“Camp now.  Beside de cut-bank here.  Dem hoss she got for res’ queek or, ba Goss, she die.”

Tex felt his own horse tremble and he knew the half-breed’s words were true.  With an oath he swung into the sheltered angle of the cut-bank along which they were travelling.  Bat jerked the pack from the lead-horse and produced clothing and blankets, dripping wet from the saturation he had given them in the poison spring.  While the others repeated the process of the previous camp, Bat worked over the horses which stood in a dejected row with their noses to the base of the cut-bank.

“We’ll save the water an’ make tomatoes do,” announced the Texan, as with his knife he cut a hole in the top of a can.  “This storm is bound to let up pretty quick an’ then we’ll hit for the waterhole.  It can’t be far from here.  We’ll tap two cans an’ save one an’ the water—­the flask’s half full yet.”