“I say, Tom. Did you notice her when she asked us to save the baby? She picked on Bob. Seems as if she knew.”
“I noticed. I guess she knew. They say angels always does know. It's forty-five miles to New Jerusalem, Bill, and you can't make it, and I'm—I'm too old for a long stretch without water.”
“That's why I said I'd help.”
“Same here.”
“We've got to do the first two heats, Tom. We've got to save young Bob's strength for the final dash. I'll carry the baby an' you carry the grub an' things tonight, an' tomorrow night——”
“I'll carry everything tomorrow night; after that it'll be up to Bob. He's young and hard and game. He ought to make it.”
Late in the afternoon, with clumsy tenderness they buried the martyred mother there by the Terrapin Tanks, built a cairn over the grave and crowned it with a cross. Then they returned to the dismantled wagon to hold a consultation.
The Wounded Bad Man was the first to broach the subject closest to the hearts of all three.
With characteristic directness he shot his query at them. All his wicked life he had been facing desperate issues; long since he had learned to face them unblinkingly.
“Robert William Thomas's got to have a bath, ain't he?”