When it was so dark that he could not see the broken sage-brush which marked the trail, it was necessary he should dismount, and proceed even at a slower pace; but he continued to press forward steadily, even though slowly, until, when it seemed to him that the night was well-nigh spent, he heard a sound as of moaning a short distance in advance.
"I've come at last, daddy. It's been a terrible long while, I know; but it was the best I could"—
He ceased speaking very suddenly as he stood by the side of the sufferer, whom he could dimly see by the faint light of the stars.
From the broken and uprooted sage-brush around him, it was evident the wounded man had, most likely while in a delirium of fever, attempted to drag himself on in the direction of the camp, and had ceased such poor efforts only when completely exhausted.
He was lying on his back, looking straight up at the sky as he alternately moaned and talked at random, with now and then a mirthless laugh which frightened the boy.
"Don't, daddy, don't!" he begged, as he raised the sufferer's head. "See, it's Dick come back; and now you can ride into camp!"
"Mother is dying of thirst, and I'm—see that stream! Come, boys, we'll take a header into it—I'm on fire—fire!"
Frightened though he was, Dick knew water was the one thing his father most needed; and laying the poor head gently back on the sand, he took the canteen from a bag which had served instead of a saddle.
"Drink this, daddy, and you'll feel better," he said coaxingly, much as if speaking to a child.
The wounded man seized the tin vessel eagerly, and it required all Dick's strength to prevent him from draining it at once.