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Page 74
Jack's horse and burro, which he had left at the head of the
canon, were already in the Indians' possession. With him he
carried his rifle and a Colt revolver. A canteen of water was
slung over his shoulder. The desert had placed its stamp upon
him, turning his clothes to gray. The tan of his face was
deepened. Lines about the eyes and mouth showed how much he had
suffered physically and mentally in his search for the man he
believed was his successful rival in love. Reaching the spring,
he looked about cautiously before he laid down his Winchester. He
tugged at the butt of his revolver to make certain that it could
be pulled quickly from the holster. Taking off his hat, he knelt
to drink. He smiled, and confidently tapped his canteen when he
found the spring dry. He was raising his canteen to his lips
when he spied Dick's body.
Jumping behind a rock, he pulled his revolver, covering the
insensible man. It might be a trap. He scanned the trail, the
cliff, the canon. Hearing and seeing nothing, he slipped his
revolver into his holster and hurried to Dick's side. At first
he did not recognize him. The desert and thirst had wrought many
changes in his friend's face.
When recognition came, he threw his arms about the prostrate
form, crying: "Dick, at last, at last!"
His voice was broken with emotion. The search had been so long,
so weary, and the ending so sudden. He had found Dick, but it
looked as if he came too late.
Gathering Dick up in his arms, he raised him until his head
rested on his knees. Forcing open his mouth, he poured a little
water down his throat.
Then with a moistened handkerchief he wetted temples and wrists.
Slowly Dick struggled back to life.
"Water--water--it's water!" he gasped, struggling for more of the
precious fluid.
"Easy," cautioned Jack. "Only a little now--more when you're
stronger."
"Who is it?" cried Dick. Not waiting for Jack to enlighten him,
he continued: "No matter--you came in time. I couldn't have
held out any longer. All the springs are dry--I figured on
reaching Clearwater."
Jack helped Dick to his feet. Taking his stricken friend's right
arm, he drew it across his shoulders. With his left arm about
his waist, Jack led him to a seat upon a convenient rock.
"I came by Clearwater yesterday," explained Jack. "It is nothing
but mud and alkali."
"My horse dropped three days ago. I had to shoot the pack-mule.
I--" Dick opened his eyes under the ministrations of Jack.
Gazing upward into his face, he shouted joyfully:
"Why--it's Jack--Jack Payson."
"Didn't you know me, Dick?" asked Jack sympathetically.
"Not at first--my eyes went to the bad out yonder in the glare."
The effort had been too much for Dick. He sat weakly over Jack's
knees. Jack turned him partly on his back, and let more water
trickle down his throat.
Dick clutched madly at the canteen, but Jack drew it back out of
his reach. With his handkerchief he moistened lips and neck.
When Dick's strength returned, Jack helped him to sit up.
"I've been hunting you for months," he told him.
"Hunting for me?" echoed Dick.
"Yes," answered Jack. "I traced you through the Lost Cities,
then to Cooney, then up in the Tularosas. At Fort Grant they put
me on the right trail."
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