"Another fool!" was his curt, sarcastic greeting.
"I begin to think so myself," answered the emigrant, whose hollow cheeks and emaciated frame gave force to his disconsolate words. It was evident he had been sick on the way.
"Pike's Peak, I s'pose?"
"Yes."
"You're late in the season."
"Was down with the fever back to Pipe's Creek; kept us two weeks."
"Where's your company?"
"Just ahead. They're to stop at that little strip of cottonwoods we're coming to, for dinner. I hope they've found water for the cattle."
"Not a drop. You'll have to press on smartly if you reach water this evening. The nearest, on this trail, is fifteen miles beyond. I was over the route yesterday."
"Sho! the teams'll have a tough pull through this sand; they'd be glad of a drink now."