The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-06-22
M A N

thick night of the desert little more sndurs- ble than its brazen day
 Twice he unslung his canteen and era wing oyer fin his patients. poured between their cracked fin, as many drops as he dared spare them. and always his own body cried out in for one drop-for just one dropof the water that must not grant himself at all. His flesh writhed in agony but his sou, CT. ulted He had won at iast and, winning, he could keep his ringing awake hold up the ids of his exhausted eyes and carry his rife ready
 Then with the morning. they outset out iB the earliest dawn-the unconscious strapped to inc burro. the suleny silent astride the broncho and grim faced Rock tramping on ahead
 And so for three days they pIowed onward-in the gray of the morning and the evenings gray-afrav, two of them in silence, the woman who drank fta quenhy from fhe canteen, mute because she would not speak; Gene. who drank nothing because his voice was gone, and only the deIirfous bookkeeper babbling profanies of running rivers and gurGrfns brooks The animals screamed wantonly for the water that Rock would give them; the white not surface of the desert fiery plowshares to the bfs guides feet; the trail wrthed and twisted before ais bursting eyes but still forward he marched wftbouf glance behind, until. at tine end of the third day,
 
 wearily and warily upon her.
 He tried to speak but his thick tongue ie,led our like dogs. No sound came from his throat and as sight of him the woman. who had been raising tss canteen to her lips let it fail upon the sand,
 There's no more water therew she complained "Fi it up from the cask. can't you?"
 Rock, mastering all his energy. let out a sort os bark and shook his tangled red head.
 The womans eyes hestated between fear and scorn What's the matter with youw she demanded Cant you talk, you fooly
 Rocks agonized face became suddenly distorted He grfnnng, and the effect was not pleasant. Then, suddenly, he buried his yellow teeth in hs left and sucked hard at the faintIy red stream that flowed from the wound.
 The woman recoiled She almost fell from the sad dle.
 'You--you're crazyT she yelled
 But Rock swallowed once or twice and smacked his lips
 "No" be said in a curious ghost Of voiee-ths voice of raven rather than man-"I only needed of them there throat sprays. I've got to tell you that can't 6l the canteen because there aint DO more water in the cask.'
 And then. without another word glance. be took his place again at the pony's head. and the weary
 
 down its blasts of dame with the white sand sending up shafts of fire, aud with the deIrious voice of the bookkeeper chanting merrily behind them:
 Streams of living water.
 Springs for thirsty souls"
 It thus that at last they passed the guards af the post-two dying animals, complaining woman, delirious but mending and rescuer now sadly in need of rescue. The beasts were shot. the husband and wife were for at the coonePs own quarters and their savior after day in hospital was called upon by cheerful chaplain who began by telling him Mrs. Dugan waiting outside for permission to see and thank him; that he-the chap Iain--considered him-the rescuer-in the light of hero and that the whole post wanted to do him hon age for his courageous adventuring
 But Gene Rock. clothed again and fin his right nina shook the great red head which the har had beer securely pasered with liberal supply of bear grease from the regimentai barber shop.
 "I don't want to no Mrs. Dugan." he said T hey my reasons fer wanting her to reccect me ike was when she seen me last An don't want to ses nobody else nuther. Show the back way. parson." .,rhe hack way?" echoed the bewidered chaplain .'Where you goingY
 Rock frowned ferceiy
 Im going to my little ranch an no one aint going to stop me. UnderstandT'
 "But-but"-the ecclesastc foundered in bog oi amazement-"have you no message for this poor we man-no word for admirers of your self sacrinceT He had been trotting after the retreating ranch man. who now turned suddenly upon him from the door.
 "No" said Gene Rock, "1 ain't. An don't you tall no more about no self sacrifice. Last year Lucy Ma money shook me fer that bandy legged ink splasher ast week the pair of lem dying in the desert could "a killed him. and did have mind to do it gut says to myself: No Whats the use? If ds that sh.' make everlasting saint of him-and fer git me. The thing fer to do is to show her Tn the better man and then make her live her life cu with this weak puppy dog That's the thing fer ms to do, An 1 Anxa it,"