Breaking open the envelope with trembling fingers, I read:
"Tyson's Wells.
"Dear Lieutenant.—Please accept four barrels of water and four bushels of corn, with my compliments.
"Gray."
Need I confess the emotions with which we realized the service this brave Arizona merchant had done us? or need I mention that Mr. Gray—God bless him, wherever he may be!—is always remembered with gratitude by me? for this is no idle incident invented to amuse a reader, but an actual occurrence.
Water!—four barrels!—one hundred and sixty gallons! That meant two gallons for every man and boy, and eight gallons for each animal. It meant rest, speed, safety.
We moved across the ravine and found the four barrels by the road-side. The animals were secured to the ambulance and the acacia bushes, the heads of the barrels removed, and after each person had satisfied his thirst the camp kettles were used, until horses and mules had drunk the contents of one each. The stock was then turned out to graze.
When coffee was poured, Private Tom Clary arose, and, holding up his tin cup, said to his comrades:
"Here's a toast to be drunk standin', b'ys, and for many raysons, which I think nade not be explained to this assimbly, I'm glad to drink it in a decoction whose principal ingraydiant is wather. Here's to Mr. Gray, whose conduct at Soldiers' Holes, at Date Creek, and on the Walkerhelyer has won our admiration. May he niver lack for the liquid he has so ginerously dispinsed, nor a soft hand to smooth his last pillow, and plinty of masses for the repose of his sowl!"
Frank and Henry sprang towards the circle of soldiers, raised their cups as Clary finished his sentiment, and joined in the hearty response when he closed.