"Fooled you again, did it?' asked the Ranger, throwing the saddle from his own pony, strapping the cased rifle to his shoulder and carrying the hatchet in the crook of his elbow.
"Better let me give you a drink from the water bag; it's hot and stale; but it will keep you from seeing water at your feet till we find another spring."
The old man drank from the neck of the water bag and wiped his mouth with his hand.
"Queer effect y'r heat has on a North man, Wayland! D' y' know what
A'd be doing if A let myself?"
"Drinking those blue shadows again?"
"No, sir, A'd be babbling and babbling about the sea! A fall asleep as we ride; an' when A wake from a doze, 'tisn't the sea of sand, 'tis the sea o' water that's about me! The yellow sea o' York Fort up Hudson Bay way where A took the boats from Saskatchewan."
Wayland helped him to mount.
"Aren't y' goin' to ride y'rself?"
"No," answered Wayland. "I'm going to keep one horse fresh. Best this one to-day: then we'll change off and rest yours to-morrow. Those fellows can't go any faster than we do. This heat will beat them out if we can't. I'll make those blackguards glad to drink horse-blood."
Then, they moved forward again, Wayland leading on foot, the little pack mule to the rear, both horses stumbling clumsily, raising clouds of dust; breathing hard, with heaving flanks.