"Water—water—it's water!" he gasped, struggling for more of the precious fluid.
"Easy," cautioned Jack. "Only a little now—more when you're stronger."
"Who is it?" cried Dick. Not waiting for Jack to enlighten him, he continued: "No matter—you came in time. I couldn't have held out any longer. All the springs are dry—I figured on reaching Clearwater."
Jack helped Dick to his feet. Taking his stricken friend's right arm, he drew it across his shoulders. With his left arm about his waist, Jack led him to a seat upon a convenient rock.
"I came by Clearwater yesterday," explained Jack. "It is nothing but mud and alkali."
"My horse dropped three days ago. I had to shoot the pack-mule. I—" Dick opened his eyes under the ministrations of Jack. Gazing upward into his face, he shouted joyfully:
"Why—it's Jack—Jack Payson."
"Didn't you know me, Dick?" asked Jack sympathetically.
"Not at first—my eyes went to the bad out yonder in the glare."
The effort had been too much for Dick. He sat weakly over Jack's knees. Jack turned him partly on his back, and let more water trickle down his throat.