The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1901-07-05

having headed the boys off. It was
not his fault that he came from Bos-
ton, 1 argued; he had to come from
somewhere, and Boston was about the
best place to come away from that I
knew of; and it was not his fault that
, he got boosted ipto job without
having to work for it. It was hard
for me to swallow his stinginess and
lack of grit; anything else would have
gone down easier, but finally charg-
ed that to his being little more than
kid--and really, that was all he
was. had just reached the decision
to tell the boys that they must let
him alone or else go up against me,
when he disturbed my thoughts by
opening his eyes, and asking in
timid, scared sort of way for drink
of water. OF course I gave it to him.
I'd have done the same for dog, but
it was the first kindness any of us
had ever done him, and so seemed to
get right next to his heart. Two big
tears rolled out of his eyes while he
was drinking, and when I reached
down for the empty cup he grabbed
my hand and thanked me as earnestly
as though I had just saved his life.I
The upshot of it all was that met
the others just as they were coming in
and, telling them what had been rum
ming in my mind, ended by playfully
promising to make dead meat of the
first one that should spring another
accident on Hays. And the Old Man
backed me up.
1t was in the first part of the spring
that all of this happened. Every day
that passed was carrying us farther
down the country, farther away from
civilization, and by the time July with
it's roasting heat came we were swal-
lowed up by the desert foothills of
the Sierra Madre. One day, about the
middle of July, we knocked off for
Sunday, at least we called it Sunday
we'd been away from civilization so
long we'd lost all track of the day it
really was-and made camp on a mar
row ridge, where scattering of
scrub cedars gave us little shade. And
maybe we didn't need that shade. If
you've ever been out in the desert
when there is not a breath of air STIR
ring, when the sand and rocks and
everything else get so hot you can't
afford to sit down without first put
ting your hat down to sit on, you will
be able to understand just how much
we needed it, for it was that kind of
Il day.
"Phew!" Tex cried, hopping the
perspiration from his brow, ''if that
place the parson used to tell about
down It San Antone's any hotter'n
this, 1 hope / won't never git sent
there to take a job surveyin' fool
railroad"
''Humph! I'll bet it amt bit hot
tern this" Bill answered. "All we
need is devil. Now, if old Geronimo
an a bunch o. his bucks 'ould come an
jump us, we wouldn't need to ask hell
or no other place any Odds"
"You bet!" Tex exclaimed. "Say,
let's all hands cut the cards to see
who'll go an bring bucket of cool
water"
This was proposition that aroused
interest in all of us, and everybody
came in, except Hays-he was off by
himself enjoying good company. Low
man was to win the job, and so of
course I had to turn up duce.
That is the kind of luck I usually
have. Off to one side of the camp the
bare, blistered foothills stretched
away hill after hill clean to the Gulf
of Mexico, for all that any of us knew
to the contrary; and on the other,
with only an arroyo between,
lowered high above us one
of the peaks of the spur
of the Sierra Madre. Up the ar
royo, about hundred yards away,
was a deep tenaja, natural tank
formed in the bedrock, which held
IN abundance of water for our needs,
and water that was cool, it being pro-
tected from the sun by a mass of over
hanging rock. Naturally, wasn't in
a hurry to get out in that whitening
heat, but 1 knew it would only make
it worse to delay, it was getting hot
ter every minute, so I picked up
bucket and started for the tenaja.
1 had covered perhaps two-thirds of
the distance, following the bottom of
the arroyo, when L heard a wicked
little hiss, and a puff of dust flew
from the bank of the arroyo at my
side. The next instant heard faint
''spang," the crack of the rifle almost
muff1ed by the dancing, heated air.
I dropped the bucket and wheeled
around, just in time to see the men in
camp grab up their rifles and belts,
and start for the rocks on the jump.
The Old Man stopped long enough to
yell and wave his hand to me, and
then hustled on; I didn't make out
what he said, but I didn't wait to ask
him what it was, nor did I trouble to
ask who had fired the shot. I just
took it for granted that it was some
long-haired, saddle-colored gentle
man in gee-string and cartridge belt,
who might even then be peering at
me through the sights of his rifle
from somewhere up on the side of
| the mountain, and I started running
as fast as could lick it for a pile of
rock little farther up the arroyo.
The next thing I knew hit the
ground with a crash, and when 1