"I'm afraid to give you more now, my poor old man; but wait, like a dear, and I'll let you take it again when you're on the horse."
Not until after a violent struggle, which frightened Dick because it seemed almost as if he was raising his hand against his father, did he regain possession of the canteen, and then a full half of the contents had been consumed.
When his thirst was in a measure quenched, Mr. Stevens lay quietly on the sand, save now and then as he moaned in unconscious agony, heeding not the boy's pleading words.
"Try to help yourself a bit, daddy," he urged. "If you'll stand on one foot I can manage to lift you onto the horse's back."
Again and again did Dick try by words to persuade his father to do as he desired, and then he realized how useless were his efforts.
He had heard of this delirium which often follows neglect of gun-shot wounds, but had no idea how he should set about checking it.
After understanding that words were useless, and knowing full well he could not lift unaided such a weight onto the horse's back, he crouched by his father's side in helpless grief.
Never before had he known what it was to be afraid, however far he might be from others of his kind; but now, as he listened to the meaningless words, or the piteous moans, terror took possession of him, and the soft sighing of the gentle wind sounded in his ears like a menace.
The horse strayed here and there seeking food, but he gave no heed.
Such garments as his mother had given him, Dick spread over the sufferer; and that done there was nothing for him save to wait.