I stared at him.  “I’ve some champagne behind the rocks,” I added.

“Water, you locoed son of a gun!”

He looked about as thirsty as a desert coyote; also, he looked flighty.  I was reaching for the canteen when I happened to think what pleasure it would be to Miss Sampson to minister to him, and I drew back.  “Wait a little.”  Then with an effort I plunged.  “Vaughn, listen.  Miss Sampson and Sally are here.”

I thought he was going to jump up, he started so violently, and I pressed him back.

“She—­Why, she’s been here all the time—­Russ, you haven’t double-crossed me?”

“Steele!” I exclaimed.  He was certainly out of his head.

“Pure accident, old man.”

He appeared to be half stunned, yet an eager, strange, haunting look shone in his eyes.  “Fool!” he exclaimed.

“Can’t you make the ordeal easier for her?” I asked.

“This’ll be hard on Diane.  She’s got to be told things!”

“Ah!” breathed Steele, sinking back.  “Make it easier for her—­Russ, you’re a damned schemer.  You have given me the double-cross.  You have and she’s going to.”

“We’re in bad, both of us,” I replied thickly.  “I’ve ideas, crazy enough maybe.  I’m between the devil and the deep sea, I tell you.  I’m about ready to show yellow.  All the same, I say, see Miss Sampson and talk to her, even if you can’t talk straight.”

“All right, Russ,” he replied hurriedly.  “But, God, man, don’t I look a sight!  All this dirt and blood!”

“Well, old man, if she takes that bungled mug of yours in her lap, you can be sure you’re loved.  You needn’t jump out of your boots!  Brace up now, for I’m going to bring the girls.”  As I got up to go I heard him groan.  I went round behind the stones and found the girls.  “Come on,” I said.  “He’s awake now, but a little queer.  Feverish.  He gets that way sometimes.  It won’t last long.”  I led Miss Sampson and Sally back into the shade of our little camp glade.

Steele had gotten worse all in a moment.  Also, the fool had pulled the bandage off his head; his wound had begun to bleed anew, and the flies were paying no attention to his weak efforts to brush them away.  His head rolled as we reached his side, and his eyes were certainly wild and wonderful and devouring enough.  “Who’s that?” he demanded.

“Easy there, old man,” I replied.  “I’ve brought the girls.”  Miss Sampson shook like a leaf in the wind.

“So you’ve come to see me die?” asked Steele in a deep and hollow voice.  Miss Sampson gave me a lightning glance of terror.

“He’s only off his head,” I said.  “Soon as we wash and bathe his head, cool his temperature, he’ll be all right.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Sampson, and dropped to her knees, flinging her gloves aside.  She lifted Steele’s head into her lap.  When I saw her tears falling upon his face I felt worse than a villain.  She bent over him for a moment, and one of the tender hands at his cheeks met the flow of fresh blood and did not shrink.  “Sally,” she said, “bring the scarf out of my coat.  There’s a veil too.  Bring that.  Russ, you get me some water—­pour some in the pan there.”