Tad's form hung limp and lifeless over the saddle. His face, with the sand and dust ground into it, was scarcely recognizable.
Ned followed the foreman as soon as he could get his pony. By the time Ned reached them, Stallings had laid Tad down and was making a quick examination.
"Get water! Hurry!" he commanded sharply.
"Where?" asked Ned, glancing about him, undecided which way to turn.
"The chuck wagon. Ride, kid! Ride!"
Ned bounced into his saddle without so much as touching his stirrup. With a sharp yell to the animal he sped away over the plain, urging on the little pony with quirt and spur.
The way Ned Rector rode that day made those of the cowmen who saw him open their eyes.
Ned began shouting for water as soon as he came in sight of the wagon, which, by this time, was packed for the start.
Pong, understanding from the boy's tone that the need was urgent, was filling a jug from the tap barrel by the time Ned rode up beside the wagon. He had less than a minute to wait.
Grabbing the jug from the hands of the grinning Chinaman, and unheeding Pong's chuckled "allee same," Ned whirled about and raced for the herd.