“Oh, just riding through, looking for you. You’re found.”
“Water. More. Darn it, lemme drink,” complained George. That was exactly like him—peppery and obstinate.
Beyond, the General Dodge squad and the soldiers were working over other members of the survey party, who had been scattered in a straggled line across the desert. George wriggled and groaned more and more, and suddenly sat up, of himself.
“Why don’t you let me drink?” he scolded.
“You have been drinking, George.”
“It never got down. It soaked in part way.”
“I’ll ask the doctor.”
Surgeon Terry was coming back, on a tour of inspection.
“Aha! How’s the boy now?”
“He wants to drink.”