Never in her life, thought Alice, as she and Endicott shared their can of tomatoes, had she tasted anything half so good.  The rich red pulp and the acid juice, if it did not exactly quench the burning thirst, at least made it bearable, and in a few minutes she fell asleep protected from the all pervading dust by one of the wet blankets.  The storm roared on.  At the end of a couple of hours Bat rose and silently saddled his horse.  “A’m gon’ for fin’ dat water-hole,” he said, when the task was completed.  “If de sto’m stop, a’right.  If it don’ stop, you gon’ on in de mornin’.”  He placed one of the empty tomato cans in his slicker, and as he was about to mount both Endicott and Tex shook his hand.

“Good luck to you, Bat,” said Endicott, with forced cheerfulness.  The Texan said never a word, but after a long look into the half-breed’s eyes, turned his head swiftly away.

Both Tex and Endicott slept fitfully, throwing the blankets from their heads at frequent intervals to note the progress of the storm.  Once during the night the Texan visited the horses.  The three saddle animals stood hobbled with their heads close to the cut-bank, but the pack-horse was gone.  “Maybe you’ll find it,” he muttered, “but the best bet is, you won’t.  I gave my horse his head for an hour before we camped, an’ he couldn’t find it.”  Tex sat up after that, with his back to the wall of the coulee.  With the first hint of dawn Endicott joined him.  The wind roared with unabated fury as he crawled to the cowboy’s side.  He held up the half-filled water flask and the Texan regarded him with red-rimmed eyes.

“This water,” asked the man, “it’s for her, isn’t it?” Tex nodded.  Without a word Endicott crawled to the side of the sleeping girl and gently drew the blanket from her face.  He carefully removed the cork from the bottle and holding it close above the parched lips allowed a few drops of the warm fluid to trickle between them.  The lips moved and the sleeping girl swallowed the water greedily.  With infinite pains the man continued the operation doling the precious water out a little at a time so as not to waken her.  At last the bottle was empty, and, replacing the blanket, he returned to the Texan’s side.  “She wouldn’t have taken it if she had known,” he whispered.  “She would have made us drink some.”

Tex nodded, with his eyes on the other’s face.

“An’ you’re nothin’ but a damned pilgrim!” he breathed, softly.  Minutes passed as the two men sat silently side by side.  The Texan spoke, as if to himself:  “It’s a hell of a way to die—­for her.”

“We’ll get through somehow,” Endicott said, hopefully.

Tex did not reply, but sat with his eyes fixed on the horses.  Presently he got up, walked over and examined each one carefully.  “Only two of ’em will travel, Win.  Yours is all in.”  He saddled the girl’s horse and his own, leaving them still hobbled.  Then he walked over and picked up the empty tomato can and the bottle.  “You’ve got to drink,” he said, “or you’ll die—­me, too.  An’ maybe that water ain’t enough for her, either.”  He drew a knife from his pocket and walked to Endicott’s horse.