"Not high enough," said he. "Make it two dollars, and maybe some angel
will hand you out a glass."
"That's all right," returned Pollock resentfully, "but I bet there's
some down in that hollow; and I'm going to see!"
"I wouldn't climb down there for a million drinks," said Bob; "I'll sit
down and wait for you."
Pollock climbed down, found his water, drank. He filled the canteen and
staggered back up the steep climb.
"Here you be," said he.
Bob seized the canteen and drank deep. When he took breath, he said:
"Thank you, Jack. That was an awful climb back."
"That's all right," nodded Jack shortly.
"Well, come on," said Bob.
"The hell!" muttered Jack, and fell over sound asleep.
An hour later Bob felt himself being shaken violently. He stirred and
advanced a little way toward the light, then dropped back like a plummet
into the abysses of sleep. Afterward he recalled a vague,
half-conscious impression of being lifted on a horse. Possibly he
managed to hang on; possibly he was held in the saddle--that he never
knew.
The next thing he seemed conscious of was the flicker of a camp-fire,
and the soft feel of blankets.
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