Even as he spoke there came the crack of a revolver almost at the entrance to the draw.
One of the men swore softly. The gimlet eyes of the old miner fastened on the spot where in another moment his hoped-for rescuers would appear.
A man staggered drunkenly into view. He reeled halfway across the mouth of the draw and stopped. His eyes, questing dully, fell upon the camp. He stared, as if doubtful whether they had played him false, then lurched toward the waiting group.
"Lost, and all in," Holway said in a whisper to Dud.
The other man nodded. Neither of them made a move toward the stranger, who stopped in front of their camp and looked with glazed eyes from one to another. His face was drawn and haggard and lined. Extreme exhaustion showed in every movement. He babbled incoherently.
"Seven—eighteen—ninety-nine. 'Atta-boy," he said thickly.
"Don't you see he's starving and out of his head?" snapped Holt brusquely. "Get him grub, pronto."
The old man rose and moved toward the suffering man. "Come, pard. Tha' 's all right. Sit down right here and go to it, as the old sayin' is." He led the man to a place beside Big Bill and made him sit down. "Better light a fire, boys, and get some coffee on. Don't give him too much solid grub at first."
The famished man ate what was given him and clamored for more.
"Coming up soon, pardner," Holt told him soothingly. "Now tell us howcome you to get lost."