The carriage stopped, and we got out to stretch our legs while the straggling soldiers slowly overtook us. The man on the wounded bronco did not arrive until the edge of the sun peeped above the horizon, and I ordered him to remove the saddle and bridle, hitch the animal behind the ambulance, and take a seat beside the driver.
Just when we were about to start again, Frank asked permission to run ahead with the field-glass to the rising ground and look for Tyson's Wells. I consented, and told him to signal us if he saw them, and that if he did not we would halt and turn out, and send the least worn of the escort ahead for relief.
Frank started, and presently disappeared behind some brush at a turn in the road. An instant later be shouted and screamed at the top of his voice. Whether he was shouting with joy or terror, or had gone out of his senses, we were unable to guess. It sounded like,
"Who-o-o-op!—water!—water!—water!"
Had the boy seen a mirage or gone mad? We could see nothing but the broad hollow about us, barren and dry as ever. But still the boy continued to shout, "Water!—water!" and presently he appeared round the bend, running and holding up what appeared to be a letter. It was a letter. When Frank reached the ambulance, tears were in his eyes as he handed me a yellow envelope.
"Found it on the head of a barrel, over there, with a stone upon it to prevent it from blowing away."
Breaking open the envelope with trembling fingers I read:
"Tyson's Wells.
"Dear Lieutenant,—Please accept four barrels of water and four bushels of corn, with my compliments.
"Gray."