Certainly a
half-dozen leaped spryly off their horses and in an instant had confined
the escaping fire. Somebody took Bob's hoe from him. A cheery voice
shouted in his ear:
"Hop along! You're through. We're on the job. Go back to camp and take a
sleep."
He and Pollock turned up the mountain. Bob felt stupid. After he had
gone a hundred feet, he realized he was thirsty, and wondered why he
had not asked for a drink. Then it came to him that he might have
borrowed a horse, but remembered thickly after a long time the
impassable dikes between him and camp.
"That's why I didn't," he said aloud.
By this time it was too late to go back for the drink. He did not care.
The excitement and responsibility had drained from him suddenly, leaving
him a hollow shell.
They dragged themselves up the dike.
"I'd give a dollar and a half for a drink of water!" said Pollock
suddenly.
They stumbled and staggered on. A twig sufficed to trip them. Pollock
muttered between set teeth, over and over again, his unvarying
complaint: "I'd give a dollar and a half for a drink of water!"
Finally, with a flicker of vitality, Bob's sense of humour cleared for
an instant.
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