"Ain't this hell!" he finally muttered fretfully. "And no more jump in this horse nor a cow. I can do without grub, but water! Oh, Lord! I could lap up a gallon." The slight motion of his lips started them bleeding. He wiped the blood away on the back of his hand and continued: "This is a reg'lar stretch of Bad Lands. If them blamed Injuns hadn't lied, I could have packed water easy enough. They don't seem to be no end to it, and I must have come forty mile. You're in for it, Smith. It's goin' to be worse before it's better. If I could only lay in a crick--roll in it--douse my face in it--soak my clothes in it! God! I'm dry!" He spurred his horse, but there was no response from it. It was dead on its feet, between the hard travel of the previous day and night and another day without water. He cursed the horses ahead as they lagged and necessitated extra steps. He rode for awhile longer, until he realized that at the snail's pace they were moving he was making little headway. A rest would pay better in the long run, although there was some two hours of daylight left. The dull-eyed horses stood with drooping heads, too thirsty and too tired to hunt for the straggling spears of grass and salt sage which grew sparsely in the alkali soil. After Smith had unsaddled, he opened the grain-sack which contained his provisions. Spreading them out, he stood and eyed them with contempt. "And I calls myself a prairie man," he said aloud, in self-disgust. "Swine-buzzom--when I'm perishin' of thirst! If only I'd put in a couple of air-tights. Pears is better nor anything; they ain't so blamed sweet, they're kind of cool, and they has juice you can drink. And tomaters--if only I had tomaters! This here dude-food, this strawberry jam, is goin' to make me thirstier than ever. No water to mix the flour with, nothing to cook in but salt grease. Smith, you're up against it, you are." He built a little sage-brush fire, over which he cooked his bacon, and with it he ate a dry biscuit, but his thirst was so great that it overshadowed his hunger. Chewing grains of coffee stimulated him somewhat, but the bacon and glucose jam increased his thirst tenfold, if such a thing were possible. His thoughts of Dora, and his dreams of the future, which had helped him through the afternoon, were no longer potent. He could now think only of his thirst--of his overpowering desire for water. It filled his whole mental horizon. Water! Water! Water! Was there anything in the world to be compared with it!