The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1891-12-06

| fiery fingers at his throat until it seemed
| almost closed So quick were the bodily
| juices licked up by the sun under such
| tremendous effort that his very marrow
seemed to have lost its fluid portion and
| his tongue to have turned TO chip. Now
| How grateful was the shade, He paused
| there for moment. He scolded himself
| for the loss of time, but he felt that mo-
| ment Was one spent in heaven.
| In passing through great split in a
| rock the canteen strap was cut and down
| fell the precious vessel with its still more
| precious contents. The stopper flew from
| Its place, and plash OF water steamed up
from the burning rock on which It fell.
| Madly he jerked up the canteen. Thank
| God, only a little water had been wasted,
| and yet, he reelected, as he replaced the
| cork, he would have given worlds TO have
| slipped what had fallen. But he FASTENED
on The warped and split boot sole 1nally
cracked clear through, and he could feel
the gridiron heat of the rocks upon his
naked flesh, for his stocking was quickly
worn away.
1t was now so hot that the rattlesnake5
aid not venture forth upon the rocks, so
there was no longer any danger from them.
The real danger now as he viewed it, was
that he would be able but short time
longer to keep the neck of the canteen from
his lips. The water had become warm, and
yet 1t was his one source of revivincation
10 place the Hat side of the canteen against
his sun-scorched face. This was at once a
delight and torture, for while the can
cooled his flesh, the delicious huggle-gug-
gle OF the water nearly drove him mad.
Thrice he stopped, uncorked the canteen
and raised il to his lips, and then, pushing
1t from him by a mighty effort, he dashed
wildly on. Soon he came to place where
the ascent was almost perpendicular, and
where the heat was so sitting as almost to
close his nostrils. The way up was lined
with cactus scrubs, whose spines pierced
his hands like red hot needles when he
grasped at something by which to haul
himself up. The little lizards that darted
into the patches of shade seemed to mock
him. and his wistful gaze could be torn
from the canteen only when it was abso-
luteiy necessary for him to see his way
clear
What is bis thirst to mine?" he
moaned, as for fourth time he uncorked
the canteen. 'He is lying in the shade
and his brow is famed by kindly hands,
while IL am burning"
Then the swollen, purple face of Bunster
rose up before him, and he showed back
with a spasmodic effort that seemed al
most superhuman. Again he toiled on,
slowly now, for his strength seemed al
most spent.
1t was dreary waiting up at the camp for
the return of the water-bearer. Yost gazed
for hours over the white ground in the di-
rection OF the canyon, and at last he
grimly gave up Zach Rawlins as lost
man, though he did not say Sc to his less
experienced friends OF the camp:
The ghost of man, with tatters of
clothing hanging from his form, darted
into view around the rocks. Yost cursed
the oncomer for a fool for running so hard
under the burning sun. His legs seemed
very unsteady, for he reeled as he ran. 1t
was fully a minute before the guide or any
OF them could realize that the advancing
form was that of Rawlins, and in that
minute the scare-crow figure had reached
the couch where Big Bunser lay, and, I'M
corking the canteen, had showed the neck
of 1t into the nearly unconscious mans
mouth.
Drink, old man It's water-good, pure
water Drink hearty, and God bless you %
came in thin, sepulchral tones from be-
tween the blackened lips of the ghostly
one. Drink, drink ~
And the water-bearer fell beside his
comrade. Great throbs shook his frame.
His breath failed. His eyed became
glazed and his dust-covered head, which
had hours ago lost its covering, sank
down upon the sand. But in the rigid
clasp of death his hand held the canteen
to his comrades lips.
Knocked out by the sum-" was Yost's
comment; but he brought back a full
canteen. Wal, I've seed lots on 'em, but
l never seed one with his griti''
They buried him by the rocks and wrote
his name on stake thrust into the sand
at his head. And Bunster, who was COM
ing out of deaths shadow, looked on and
mourned.
That very evening came jingllng along
the trail a train of burros, led by a thick
set Mexican. There was plenty of good
water in his casks, and plenty of good
food in his packs. and the travellers ate
and drank and went their way toward
Flagstaff in the Mexican's company. And
the sound of the tinkling bells on the
burros' necks echoed from the rock under
which Zach Rawlins lay and Knocked his
dull, cold ear.-Frank b. Willard in the
Argondut.