“So he stuck in his stick o' dynamite an' it's only a fool's luck he didn't blow himself up doin' it. I wisht he had; but he didn't. He just put Terrapin Tanks out o' business forever—cracked the granite floor o' that sump-hole an' busted down the sides, an' the water's run out into the sand an' the tanks run dry. They'll stay dry. We can have cloudbursts in this country from now until I get religion, but them tanks'll never hold another drop o' water. That fool tenderfoot's dead, I guess; but he's goin' to keep right on killin' people just the same. Men'll keep comin' here, bankin' on water—an' in five years there'll be a dozen skeletons round that busted tank.”
“But all that ain't what's bitin' me half as hard as what he went an' done next. He went an' let his stock nose round an' lick up that alkali slop below the Tanks, an' drove 'em loco. They took off up the canon, huntin' water, with Mr. Man after 'em. That was four days ago an' he ain't come back yet; so we don't need to waste no time speculatin' on his case an' feelin' sorry for him. It wouldn't 'a been so bad, but he went an' left his woman alone at th' Tanks. She had a little water left, so she wasn't so bad off until yesterday, when it give out. It's been pretty hard on her all alone there—an' she's a nice little woman too. About twenty, I guess, an' heaps too good for the cuss she married. But still that ain't the worst—not by a long shot. She's goin' to have a papoose.”
“What!”
“The Youngest Bad Man and The Wounded Bad Man voiced the horrified exclamation in unison; then The Wounded Bad Man sank back against a rock.
“Yes,” The Worst Bad Man affirmed huskily, “there's a baby due right soon, I reckon. She's in a pretty bad fix. I was never married, boys, an' I don't know what to do for her—an' she's cryin', an' prayin', and askin' for help, an'—I—don't know——”
The Worst Bad Man choked and hid his hard face in his hands. He shook like a hooked fish. Silence, while The Worst Bad Man fought for control of himself.
“I'm a tough old bird,” he said presently—“I'm an awful tough old bird; but I can't go back there alone. You've got to come with me, lads. We got to do someth'n' for her.”
He turned hopefully to The Wounded Bad Man.
“Bill,” he said pleadingly, “you ought to know somethin' about such cases. You do, don't you Bill? Wasn't you married to a half-breed girl down on the Rio Colorado somewheres, an' didn't she have kids for you?”
The Wounded Bad Man was on the defensive instantly.