The Easterner felt as though his heart had been drenched in ice-water. "Can't we wait until some one comes?" he asked timidly.
"Who's likely to come? You got any friends on the way? I haven't. There's another thing: the stage will be along to-morrow. We've got to get warnin' to it that the Kiowas are on the warpath. If we don't—well, you know what happened to the freight outfit."
"If one of us goes, how can he get away?"
"I've thought of that. It will be dark for an hour before the moon gets up. The one that goes will have to drop off the bank an' swim down with the current for a quarter of a mile or so, then get to the shore, crawl across the prairie till he's clear of the sentries, an' make a bee-line for Tascosa."
"I couldn't find my way in the dark," faltered Arthur.
Jack nodded. "I doubt if you could. I'm elected, then."
"Why—why can't we both go?"
"We couldn't take Dinsmore fifty yards. He's too sick a man."
"He's going to die anyhow. If I stay, we'll both die—horribly. It's every man for himself now."
Jack shook his head. "If you feel that way, you go an' I'll stay."