g only a dozen steps from Howard. He stopped
at the sound of the voice, stared wildly and then sagged on by. Howard
called again and then followed, bewildered. The Indian fell twice
before he came to the spot where there should be water. Here he went
down on his stomach, putting his face down as though to drink. Howard
heard him groan when the bleared eyes saw that instead of water there
was but blazing hot sand. The Indian made no other sound but merely
rolled over on his back and lay very still, eyes shut, jaw dropping,
hands lax at his sides.

'You poor devil!' muttered Howard.

He came to the prostrate figure. Now he noted that from the
string-belt there hung at one hip a little buckskin bag; it might have
held a handful of dried meat. Tied at the other hip was a bundle of
feathers that made gay colour against the grey monotony, feathers of
the bluebird, the redbird, blackbird and dove. Scabbardless, tied with
a bit of thong close to the feathers, was a knife with a long blade.

The Indian's chest heaved spasmodically; his breath came in dry gasps.
Howard stooped over him and called to him softly. The eyes flew open
and, after a heavy gathering of the brows bespeaking the effort made,
focussed upon Howard's.

'_Agua_,' pleaded the swollen lips.

Howard took up a sardine tin, the contents of which he had eaten while
he rested, and, very careful not to spill a drop of the priceless
fluid, poured it half full from his canteen. Then he knelt and put an
arm about the gaunt body, lifting it a little, offering the water to
the broken lips. Now he noted that the cloth about the black head of
hair was stained with blood.

He had expected the man to drink thirstily. Instead, manifesting a
display of will power such as the white man had never seen, the Indian
took the water slowly, held it a moment in his mouth, swallowed it drop
by drop.

'More,' he said when the tin was emptied.

Again Howard filled it. Now the Indian sat upright alone and drank.
Afterwards he looked at Howard with a long, piercing regard. A second
time he said 'More.'

Howard with his finger indicated how low his water was.

'Not much water, _companero_,' he said quietly. 'Pretty soon all gone.'

'No more?' queried the Indian sharply.

Howard poured out the third small tin; altogether he was giving the
poor devil only about a cupful when a quart would have been all
inadequate. Again the keen black eyes that seemed clearer now