" Ben shouted out his own
commands to two men who stood close to him, and they ran for the
horses. The Lark was at the same time snapping out his orders, and the
men he called by name hurried for horses, and many hands made quick
work of the hitching-up. Other fingers whittled plugs, wrapped them
about with bits of sack, and drove them tight into the holes in the
barrels. The cook sped to his tent, found a bucket half full of water,
and was drinking thirstily when Mundy jerked it from his hands.
"None of that, you sneakin' skunk!" he shouted. "Them guys as got hurt
gets the first show."
The fellow Conniston had shot in the thigh, and the man whom he had
seen a companion strike with a knife, cutting him deeply in the neck,
were carried into the tent, water thrust up to their parched lips,
their wounds bound swiftly and gently. The Chinaman Mundy rolled over
with his foot.
"Deader 'n hell," he grunted. "Might as well leave him where he is
until plantin'-time."
Once more order had grown quietly out of chaos. The men stood here and
there talking, chewing tobacco, cursing the thirst which as the
minutes dragged by grew ever more tormenting. Already the sun had
rolled upward above the flat horizon. Already the desert heat had
leaped out at them. A dozen men climbed upon Ben's wagon, thinking to
go to Valley City with him to get water there.
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