CHAPTER XII
TEX DOES SOME SCOUTING
The moon hung low over the peaks to the westward when the Texan opened
his eyes. For some moments he stared about him in bewilderment, his
gaze travelling slowly from the slicker-clad form of the girl, who sat
close beside him with her face buried in her arms, to the little group
of horses that stood huddled dejectedly together. With an effort he
struggled to his elbow, and at the movement, the girl raised her head
and turned a very white face toward him.
Shivering with cold, the Texan raised himself to a sitting posture.
"Where's Bat?" he asked. "An' why ain't he onsaddled those horses, an'
built a fire? I'm froze stiff."
"Bat has gone to--to find Winthrop," answered the girl, with a painful
catch in her voice. "He wouldn't wait, and I had no matches, and yours
were all wet, and I couldn't loosen the cinches."
Tex passed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to remember, and
his fingers prodded tenderly at his jaw. "I recollect bein' in the
water, an' the pilgrim was there, an' we were scrappin' an' he punched
me in the jaw. He carries a whallop up his sleeve like the kick of a
mule. But what we was scrappin' about, an' where he is now, an' how I
come here, is somethin' I don't savvy."
Step by step the girl detailed what had happened while the Texan
listened in silence.
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