"Leave me here--forgotten--"
"Not of God. His Mercy endureth forever," Jondo replied.
But there was no repentance, no softening of the hard, imperious heart.
We left him there, pulling down the loose earth from the steep sides of
the draw to cover him from all the frowning elements of the plains. And
when we went back to the waiting train Jondo reported, grimly:
"_No enemy in sight."_
We laid Bill Banney beside the poisoned spring, from whose bitter waters
he had saved our lives. So martyrs filled the unknown graves that made
the milestones of the way in the days of commerce-building on the old
Santa Fe Trail.
The next spring was not far ahead, as Bill's note had said, but the
stars were thick above us and the desolate land was full of shadows
before we reached it--a thirst-mad, heart-sore crowd trailing slowly on
through the gloom of the night.
Beverly was waiting for us and the refreshing moisture of the air above
a spring seemed about him.
"I thought you'd never come. Where's Bill? There's water here. I made
the spring myself," he shouted, as we came near.
The spring that he had digged for us was in the sandy bed of a dry
stream, with low, earth-banks on either side.
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