"It's a long drink I want," said Benson, looking steadily at him.
Blake, who let this pass, prepared his supper and offered the other a portion.
"Try some of that," he said, indicating the light flapjacks fizzling among the pork in the frying-pan. "It strikes me as a good deal more tempting than the stuff you have been eating."
Benson thrust the food aside, and Blake finished it before he took out his pipe. "Now," he said, "you can go to sleep when you wish. I expect you're tired, and it's a long ride back to camp."
"You seem to count upon my going back with you," Benson remarked mockingly.
"I do; don't you mean to come?"
"Do you suppose it's likely after I've ridden all this way?"
Blake laid down his pipe and looked hard at the man. "You force me to take a line I'm not cut out for. Think a moment! You have land and stock worth a good deal of money which my partner believes can be saved from the rogue who's stealing it from you. You are a young man, and if you pull yourself together and pay off his claims, you can sell out and look for another opening wherever you like, but you know what will happen if you go on as you are doing a year or two longer. Have you no friends and relatives in England you owe something to? Is your life worth nothing, that you're willing to throw it away?"
"It's all true," Benson admitted moodily. "Do you think I can't see where I'm drifting? The trouble is that I've gone too far to stop."
"Try," said Blake. "It's very well worth while."