Endicott took a step toward him: "It won't work, Tex," he said, with a smile. "You don't expect me to believe that if you really thought Bat would return with water, you would be sending us away from here into this dust-storm. No. I'm the one that waits for Bat. You go ahead and take her through, and then you can come back for me." The Texan shook his head: "I got you into this deal, an'----" "You did it to protect me!" flared Endicott. "I'm the cause for all this, and I'll stand the gaff!" The Texan smiled, and Endicott noticed that it was the same cynical smile with which the man had regarded him in the dance hall, and again as they had faced each other under the cottonwoods of Buffalo Coulee. "Since when you be'n runnin' this outfit?" "It don't make any difference since when! The fact is, I'm running it, now--that is, to the extent that I'll be damned if you're going to stay behind and rot in this God-forsaken inferno, while I ride to safety on your horse." The smile died from the cowboy's face: "It ain't that, Win. I guess you don't savvy, but I do. She's yours, man. Take her an' go! There was a while that I thought--but, hell!" "I'm not so sure of that," Endicott replied. "Only yesterday, or the day before, she told me she could not choose--yet." "She'll choose," answered Tex, "an' she won't choose--me. She ain't makin' no mistake, neither. By God, I know a man when I see one!" Endicott stepped forward and shook his fist in the cowboy's face: "It's the only chance. You can do it--I can't. For God's sake, man, be sensible! Either of us would do it--for her. It is only a question of success, and all that it means; and failure--and all that that means. You know the country--I don't. You are experienced in fighting this damned desert--I'm not. Any one of a dozen things might mean the difference between life and death. You would take advantage of them--I couldn't."