Moving to the left, he saw rising above the hill brow a thin curl of smoke. A dozen staggering steps brought him to the edge of a draw. There in the hollow below, almost within a stone’s throw, was a young woman bending over a fire. He tried to call, but his swollen tongue and dry throat refused the service. Instead, he began to run toward her.
Beyond the wash was a dead cow. Not far from it lay a calf on its side, all four feet tied together. 20 From the fire the young woman took a red-hot running iron and moved toward the little bleater.
The crackling of a twig brought her around as a sudden tight rein does a high-strung horse. The man had emerged from the prickly pears and was close upon her. His steps dragged. The sag of his shoulders indicated extreme fatigue. The dark hollows beneath the eyes told of days of torment.
The girl stood before him slender and straight. She was pale to the lips. Her breath came fast and ragged as if she had been running.
Abruptly she shot her challenge at him. “Who are you?”
“Water,” he gasped.
One swift, searching look the girl gave him, then “Wait!” she ordered, and was off into the mesquit on the run. Three minutes later the tenderfoot heard her galloping through the brush. With a quick, tight rein she drew up, swung from the saddle expertly as a vaquero, and began to untie a canteen held by buckskin thongs to the side of the saddle.
He drank long, draining the vessel to the last drop.
From her saddle bags she brought two sandwiches wrapped in oiled paper.
“You’re hungry, too, I expect,” she said, her eyes shining with tender pity.