Johnny grunted and the silence began again, a silence which endured for several hours, such a silence that can exist between two real friends and be full of understanding. It endured between them and was not even broken by the distant, dim flare of a match, nor when low sounds floated up to them and gradually grew into the clicking and rattle of horns against horns, and the low rumble of many hurrying hoofs--hoofs hurrying toward the water which bovine nostrils had long since scented. The rumble grew rapidly as the thirst-tortured herd stampeded for Bitter Spring. A revolver flashed here and there on the edges of the animated avalanche and then a sweet silence came to the desert, soon to be tunefully and pleasantly broken by the soft lowing of cattle leg deep in the saving water. _Let th' air blow in up-on m-e-e,_ _Let me see th' mid-night s-k-y;_ _Stand back, Sisters, from a-round m-e-e:_ _God, it i-s s-o-o h-a-r-d to d-i-e,_ wailed a cracked voice, the owner relieving his feelings. "Thorpe, if you don't wrastle a hot snack d--d quick, I'll eat yore ears!" "Give him anythin' to stop that yowlin'," bellowed another. "Can't he learn nothin' but 'Th' Dyin' Nun'? Thank heaven he never learned no more of it. A sick calf ain't no cheerfuller than him." "You'll have to eat lively, boys," sang out the trail-boss. "Everythin' is on th' move in an hour. If yo're in such a cussed hurry, Jud, get some wood for him. Take it from that lame pack horse. Reckon we'll have to shoot him if he don't get better in a hurry." _Up to my knees in mud I go_ _An' water to my middle;_ _Whenever firewood's to be got_ _I'm Cookie's sec-ond fid-dle,_ chanted Jud, splashing out to where the lame pack horse conducted an experiment in saturation. "Hot, cussed hot," he enlightened the cheerful, but tired group on the bank. "Hot _an'_ oozy. Hello, hoss," he greeted, slapping the shrinking shoulder. "You heard what th' boss said about you? Pick up, Ol' Timer; pick up or you'll get shot. What? Don't blame you a bit, not a cussed bit. _I_'d ruther be shot, too, than tote wood over this part of h--l. Oh, well; life's plumb funny. You'll fry if you do, an' you'll die if you don't. What's th' difference, anyhow, Ol' Timer?" "Hey, Jud," called a voice. "Got a new bunkie?" "I could have worse than a cayuse," replied Jud. "A cussed sight worse." "There's mocassins, rattlers, copperheads, tarantulas, an' scorpions in that pond!" warned another.