"
"We'll get through somehow," Endicott said, hopefully.
Tex did not reply, but sat with his eyes fixed on the horses. Presently
he got up, walked over and examined each one carefully. "Only two of 'em
will travel, Win. Yours is all in." He saddled the girl's horse and his
own, leaving them still hobbled. Then he walked over and picked up the
empty tomato can and the bottle. "You've got to drink," he said, "or
you'll die--me, too. An' maybe that water ain't enough for her, either."
He drew a knife from his pocket and walked to Endicott's horse.
"What are you going to do?" cried the other, his eyes wide with horror.
"It's blood, or nothin'," answered the Texan, as he passed his hand along
the horse's throat searching for the artery.
Endicott nodded: "I suppose you're right, but it seems--cold blooded."
"I'd shoot him first, but there's no use wakin' her. We can tell her the
horse died." There was a swift twisting of the cowboy's wrist, the horse
reared sharply back, and Endicott turned away with a sickening feeling of
weakness. The voice of the Texan roused him: "Hand me the bottle and the
can quick!" As he sprang to obey, Endicott saw that the hand the cowboy
held tightly against the horse's throat was red. The weakness vanished
and he cursed himself for a fool.
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