"It's a bad business this," he said in answer to the worry she dared not express. "The animals can't hold out much longer." "What are we to do? There's only a little water left in one of the casks." "Low's goin' to strike across for the other trail. He's goin' after supper, and he says he'll ride all night till he gets it. He thinks if he goes due that way," pointing northward, "he can strike it sooner than by goin' back." They looked in the direction he pointed. Each bush was sending a phenomenally long shadow from its intersection with the ground. There was no butte or hummock to break the expanse between them and the faint, far silhouette of mountains. Her heart sank, a sinking that fatigue and dread of thirst had never given her. "He may lose us," she said. The old man jerked his head toward the rock. "He'll steer by that, and I'll keep the fire going till morning." "But how can he ride all night? He must be half dead now." "A man like him don't die easy. It's not the muscle and the bones, it's the grit. He says it's him that made the mistake and it's him that's goin' to get us back on the right road." "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. There had once been water here for the grasses, and thin-leafed plants grew rank about the rock's base, then outlined in sere decay what had evidently been the path of a streamlet. She knelt among them, thrusting her hands between their rustling stalks, jerking them up and casting them away, the friable soil spattering from their roots.