“What are you going to do?” cried the other, his eyes wide with horror.

“It’s blood, or nothin’,” answered the Texan, as he passed his hand along the horse’s throat searching for the artery.

Endicott nodded:  “I suppose you’re right, but it seems—­cold blooded.”

“I’d shoot him first, but there’s no use wakin’ her.  We can tell her the horse died.”  There was a swift twisting of the cowboy’s wrist, the horse reared sharply back, and Endicott turned away with a sickening feeling of weakness.  The voice of the Texan roused him:  “Hand me the bottle and the can quick!” As he sprang to obey, Endicott saw that the hand the cowboy held tightly against the horse’s throat was red.  The weakness vanished and he cursed himself for a fool.  What was a horse—­a thousand horses to the lives of humans—­her life?  The bottle was filled almost instantly and he handed Tex the can.

“Drink it—­all you can hold of it.  It won’t taste good, but it’s wet.”  He was gulping great swallows from the tin, as with the other hand he tried to hold back the flow.  Endicott placed the bottle to his lips and was surprised to find that he emptied it almost at a draught.  Again and again the Texan filled the bottle and the can as both in a frenzy of desire gulped the thick liquid.  When, at length they were satiated, the blood still flowed.  The receptacles were filled, set aside, and covered with a strip of cloth.  For a moment longer the horse stood with the blood spurting from his throat, then with a heavy sigh he toppled sidewise and crashed heavily to the ground.  The Texan fixed the cork in the bottle, plugged the can as best he could, and taking them, together with the remaining can of tomatoes, tied them into the slicker behind the cantle of his saddle.  He swung the bag containing the few remaining biscuits to the horn.

“Give her the tomatoes when you have to. You can use the other can—­tell her that’s tomatoes, too.  She’ll never tumble that it’s blood.”

Endicott stared at the other:  “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you had better wake her up, now, an’ get goin’.  I’ll wait here for Bat.  He’s probably found the spring by this time, an’ he’ll be moseyin’ along directly with water an’ the pack-horse.”

Endicott took a step toward him:  “It won’t work, Tex,” he said, with a smile.  “You don’t expect me to believe that if you really thought Bat would return with water, you would be sending us away from here into this dust-storm.  No.  I’m the one that waits for Bat.  You go ahead and take her through, and then you can come back for me.”

The Texan shook his head:  “I got you into this deal, an’——­”

“You did it to protect me!” flared Endicott.  “I’m the cause for all this, and I’ll stand the gaff!”

The Texan smiled, and Endicott noticed that it was the same cynical smile with which the man had regarded him in the dance hall, and again as they had faced each other under the cottonwoods of Buffalo Coulee.  “Since when you be’n runnin’ this outfit?”