"Well," remarked Foy cheerfully, "I reckon we've reached the big finish, both of us. I don't see any way out. All they've got to do is to sit tight till we starve out for water. Wish you was out of it. It's going to be tough on Stella, losing her friend and—and me, both at once. How's she making out? Full of fight and hope to the last, I'll bet."
"They had me under herd; but she was wishing for the Bar Cross buddies to butt in, I believe. Reckon your sheriff-man guessed it. He had her under guard, too."
"Nice man, the sheriff! How'd you get away from your herder?"
"He don't just remember," said Pringle.
"Who was it?"
"Applegate. Dreadful absent-minded, Applegate is. Ouch! There went my other shin. Had any sleep?"
"Most all night. Something woke me up about two hours ago, and I kept on the look-out ever since."
"That was me, I guess. I had to step lively. They was crowding me."
"If the Bar Cross happened to get word," observed Foy thoughtfully, "we might stand some hack. But they won't. It's good-by, vain world, for ours! Say, in case a miracle happens for you, just make a memo about the sheriff being a nuisance, will you?"
"I'll tie a string on my finger. Anything else?"