de. The bay horse began to groan and writhe.

"Got to kill that cavallo," said Sam in a whisper.

"Wait a minute." The girl had quieted, was kneeling with clasped hands,
lips moving silently. Prayer, such as it was, over, she rose, her fists
tight closed, striving to control her quivering chin--doing it. She
looked up as the shadow of a buzzard was flung against the cliff by the
slanting sun.

"We got to bury him, 'count of them damn buzzards."

"We'll tend to that," said Sandy. "Ef you-all 'll take the dawg on up to
the hawsses...."

"No! I helped to bury Jim Clancy, out in the desert, I'm goin' to help
bury Dad. It's goin' to be lonesome out here--" She twisted her mouth,
setting teeth into the lower lip sharply as she gazed at the desolate
cliffs, the birds swinging their tireless, expectant circles in the
throat of the gorge.

"Dad allus figgered he'd die somewheres in the desert. 'Lowed it 'ud be
his luck. He wanted to be put within the sound of runnin' water--he's
gone so often 'thout it. But--" She shrugged her thin shoulders
resignedly, the inheritance of the prospector's philosophy strong within
her.

"See here, miss," said Sandy, while Sam crawled into the wagon in search
of the dead miner's pick and shovel that now, instead of uncovering
riches, would dig his grave, "how old air you?"

"Fifteen. My name's Margaret--Molly for short--same as my Ma. She's been
dead for twelve years."

"Well, Miss Molly, suppose you-all come on to the Three Star fo' a spell
with my two pardners an' me? You do that an' mebbe we can fix yore
daddy's idee about runnin' water. We'd come back an' git him an' we'll
make a place fo' him under our big cottonwoods below the big spring. I
w'udn't wonder but what he c'ud hear the water gugglin' plain as it runs
down the overflow to the alfalfa patches."

Molly Casey gazed at him with such a sudden glow of gratitude in her
eyes that Sandy felt embarrassed. He had been comforting a girl, a
boyish girl, and here a woman looked at him, with understanding.

"Yo're sure a white man," she said. "I'll git even with you some time if
I work the bones of my fingers through the flesh fo' you. Thanks don't
amount to a damn 'thout somethin' back of 'em. I'll come through."

She put out her roughened little hand, man-fashion, and Sandy took it as
Sam emerged from the wagon with the tools. The bay mare groaned and gave
a shrill cry, horribly human. Sam drew his gun, putting down pick and
sho