The first thing Ladd asked was to have the store of food that
remained spread out upon a tarpaulin. Assuredly, it was a slender
enough supply. The ranger stood for long moments gazing down at
it. He was groping among past experiences, calling back from his
years of life on range and desert that which might be valuable for
the present issue. It was impossible to read the gravity of Ladd's
face, for he still looked like a dead man, but the slow shake of
his head told Gale much. There was a grain of hope, however, in
the significance with which he touched the bags of salt and said,
"Shore it was sense packin' all that salt!"
Then he turned to face his comrades.
"That's little grub for six starvin' people corralled in the desert.
But the grub end ain't worryin' me. Yaqui can get sheep up the
slopes. Water! That's the beginnin' and middle an' end of our
case."
"Laddy, I reckon the waterhole here never goes dry," replied Jim.
"Ask the Indian."
Upon being questioned, Yaqui repeated what he had said about the
dreaded ano seco of the Mexicans. In a dry year this waterhole
failed.
"Dick, take a rope an' see how much water's in the hole."
Gale could not find bottom with a thirty foot lasso. The water
was as cool, clear, sweet as if it had been kept in a shaded
iron receptable.
Ladd welcomed this information with surprise and gladness.
"Let's see. Last year was shore pretty dry. Mebbe this summer
won't be. Mebbe our wonderful good luck'll hold.
Pages:
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336