Howard with his finger indicated how low his water was.

‘Not much water, companero,’ he said quietly.  ‘Pretty soon all gone.’

‘No more?’ queried the Indian sharply.

Howard poured out the third small tin; altogether he was giving the poor devil only about a cupful when a quart would have been all inadequate.  Again the keen black eyes that seemed clearer now and like a bird’s probed at him.  Again and as before, the Indian drank.

‘Me Kish Taka,’ he announced slowly and with a certain dignity.  ’Come far, head hurt, much sick, much blood.  Pretty soon, no water, die.  Now, pretty good.’

Howard grunted.  That a man in this fellow’s shape should declare himself as being ‘pretty good’ was worth any man’s snort.  He looked as though he would be dead in ten minutes as he lay back and shut his eyes.  With his eyes still shut, the Indian spoke again: 

‘You sabe other water-hole?’

‘No.  I found it dry.’

’Kish Taka sabe water-hole.  Sleep now, damn tired, damn hot, head sick.  Sun go down, get cold, Kish Taka go there, you come, get water.’

‘Where?’ demanded Howard quickly.  ‘How far?’ For he was half inclined to believe that if Kish Taka went to sleep now he would never wake.

The long, thin arm pointed out to the south-west.

‘Not too far,’ he said.  ’Two big high mountain, some tree, water there.  Maybe twenty-five mile.’

‘Good God!’ exclaimed Howard.  ’Twenty-five miles!  Might as well be a thousand!’

The Indian did not answer.  He was breathing regularly, his lips were closed.  For five minutes Howard stood looking down upon him and then he tiptoed a few yards away; Kish Taka was evidently asleep.  Howard set his canteen down in the shade of a bush, found another bush for himself, and lay as the Indian was lying, on his back, relaxing his body.  He did not regret having shared his water with an Indian, but he wondered why his destiny at this time of need had sent to him another thirsty mouth.  Further, he allowed himself to wonder soberly if he would ever see his green fields again.  He measured his chances with a steady mind, and in the end his mouth grew sterner.

‘If I’ve got to cash in this way,’ he muttered as his own sort of prayer, ‘I hope I can be as game about it as Kish Taka.’

It struck him that in one thing the Indian was wise.  It was as well to rest now until after sunset and then to start on again in what coolness the evening might afford.  Further, it was not in him now to get up and sling his canteen on his back and go on, leaving the fellow wayfarer whom his fate had given him.  He would try to sleep a little, though he had little enough hope of coaxing the blissful condition of rest and unconsciousness to him.  But, physically tired, lulled by the great stillness, it was but a few minutes when he, too, slept heavily.