And then it seemed to the girl they
rode on and on for hours without a spoken word. She came to tell by the
force of the wind whether they travelled along ridges, or wide low
basins, or narrow coulees. Her lips dried and cracked, and the fine dust
and sand particles were driven beneath her clothing until her skin
smarted and chafed under their gritty torture. Suddenly the wind seemed
to die down and the horses stopped. She heard the Texan swing to the
ground at her side, and she tried to open her eyes but they were glued
fast. She endeavoured to speak and found the effort a torture because of
the thick crusting of alkali dust and sand that tore at her broken lips.
The scarf was loosened and allowed to fall about her neck. She could
hear the others dismounting and the loud sounds with which the horses
strove to rid their nostrils of the crusted grime.
"Just a minute, now, an' you can open your eyes," the Texan's words fell
with a dry rasp of his tongue upon his caked lips. She heard a slight
splashing sound and the next moment the grateful feel of water was upon
her burning eyelids, as the Texan sponged at them with a saturated bit of
cloth.
"The water-hole!" she managed to gasp.
"There's water here," answered the cowboy, evasively, "hold still, an' in
a minute you can open your eyes.
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