"
"What will he do for water?"
"Take an empty cask behind the saddle and trust to God."
"But there's water in one of our casks yet."
"Yes, he knows it, but he's goin' to leave that for us. And we got to
hang on to it, Missy. Do you understand that?"
She nodded, frowning and biting her underlip.
"Are you feelin' bad?" said the old man uneasily.
"Not a bit," she answered. "Don't worry about me."
He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked into her face with eyes that
said more than his tongue could.
"You're as good a man as any of us. When we get to California we'll
have fun laughing over this."
He gave the shoulder a shake, then drew back and picked up his rifle.
"I'll get you a rabbit for supper if I can," he said with his cackling
laugh. "That's about the best I can do."
He left her trailing off into the reddened reaches of the sage, and she
went back to the rock, thinking that in some overlooked hollow, water
might linger. She passed the mouth of the dead spring, then skirted
the spot where David lay, a motionless shape under the canopy of the
blanket. A few paces beyond him a buttress extended and, rounding it,
she found a triangular opening inclosed on three sides by walls, their
summits orange with the last sunlight.
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