“Yeah—but you’ll have to git along without ’em this morning. The damn things is dead.”
Abington looked at him, looked past him to where Bill pointed an unsteady finger. He got off the ledge and limped over to the nearest carcass, looked it over carefully, walked to the others and examined them, and returned thoughtfully to camp.
Bill had kindled a fire and was starting off to the spring with an empty bucket when Abington stopped him.
“Hey, come back here! Don’t use any water from that spring.”
“Yeah? Where will I use water from, then?”
“From a canteen. I filled two yesterday. The burros were at the spring this morning and stampeded from there. I can’t be certain yet, of course, but I think the water is poisoned.”
Bill stared, his jaw sagging. Abington was looking out across the valley, his eyes narrowed and blacker than Bill had ever seen them.
“I may be wrong, Bill, but we can’t afford to take a chance. One burro might suddenly pass out with heart failure, but when three of them turn up their toes in the same way and at the same moment, the coincidence will bear investigation, I think!”
“How could that sheep thing poison a spring?” Bill’s tone implied violent incredulity.
“I don’t know. I’m merely stating what appears to be a fact. Three burros drank at that spring and afterward stampeded out of the cañon and dropped dead in the open. I’m assuming that the water in the spring, or at least in the little pool below it, was poisoned. They must have been scared away, else they would have died right there near the spring. Yes, I think it will bear investigation!”