And he hoped and prayed that good might
come of it and of the brief hesitation.
Suddenly the Lark broke away from his comrades and ran forward.
Conniston, ever watchful, ever suspicious, covered him with his rifle.
But the Lark was grinning, and as he came closer he lifted his two
hands.
"I'm with you!" he shouted. "I got a bellyful of this here racket.
An'," with a glance over his shoulder, "I got a bellyful of that
rotgut, too. Besides, it's all gone. How about coffee, boys?"
"And you, Mundy? How about you?" Conniston called, quickly. "Do you
want to keep your job at the wages I offered you yesterday? Or shall I
put another man in your place? Quick, man! Speak up!"
Mundy hesitated, glancing at Ben before he answered. And then slowly
he stepped out to where the Lark already stood.
"I'll keep my job," he grunted, sullenly.
"Please, sir," grinned the Lark, shaking his hand high above his head
like a ragged urchin in school, "kin I go git a drink? Water, I mean,"
he finished with widening grin.
"Yes," answered Conniston, trying to keep from his eyes the gladness
which was surging up within him. "Come this way first. There--stop.
Now throw your gun toward me. You've got some sense. Now go get your
water."
Ben came forward; and slowly, reluctantly, with evil, red-rimmed eyes,
Peters. And, as the Lark had done, they tossed their revolvers to the
sand near Conniston's wagon and trudged off toward the nearest
water-wagon.
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