There had been, of course, the usual supply in the house at the time of the attack and it had been made to last as long as was humanly possible, the lion's share going to the wounded man, but they had arrived, now, at the point of actual suffering. His role of helpless inaction was an intolerable one for Jimsy King to play. To know that--less than a quarter of a mile away, down the moist green path through the tropic verdure--was the well; to see Honor's dry lips and strained eyes, Carter's deathly pallor, to hear his uncle, out of his head, mercifully, most of the time, begging for water, meant a constant battle with himself not to rush out, to make one frantic try at least, but he knew that the deeper courage of patient waiting was required of him. They could only conjecture what the invaders meant to do,--whether they intended to have them die of thirst, whether they meant to rush the house when it suited their pleasure--raggedly fortified and guarded by Jimsy and Carter and the half dozen of the faithful. Jimsy had talked the latter probability over steadily with Honor and she understood. "Jimsy," she managed not to let her teeth chatter, "it's like a play or--or a Wild West tale, isn't it? Like a 'Frank Merriwell'--remember when you used to adore those things?" "No, Skipper, it's not like a 'Frank Merriwell'; he could always _do_ something...." Jimsy's strong teeth ground together. "Yes--'Blooey, blooey! Fifteen more redskins bit the dust!'" "Skipper, you _wonder_! You brick!" "Jimsy, I--there's no use talking about things that may never happen, because _of course_ help will get here, but if it should not--if they should rush us, and we couldn't keep them out"--her hoarse voice faltered but her eyes held his--"you won't--you wouldn't let them--take me, Jimsy?" "No, Skipper." "Promise, Jimsy?" "Promise, Skipper. 'Cross my heart!'" The old good foolish words of the old safe days, here, now, in this hideous and garish present! With that pledge she was visibly able to give herself to a livelier hope. "But of course Yaqui Juan got through to the Grants' _hacienda_! Can you imagine him failing us, Jimsy?" He shook his head. "He'll make it if any man living could." The Indian had slipped through the _insurrectos_ in the first hour, as soon as it had been known that the wires were cut. Unless the Grants, too, were besieged, they would be able to telephone for help for _El Pozo_, and if they were likewise in duress, Yaqui Juan would go on to the next _rancho_,--on and on until he could set the wheels of rescue in motion. "I wish to God I had his job. _Doing something_----"