Pacing ceaselessly from window to window, crack to crack, when
the moon came up, Mr. Connors scanned the bare, level plain with anxious
eyes, searching out the few covers and looking for dark spots on the
dull gray sand. They never attacked at night, but still--. Through the
void came the quavering call of a coyote, and he listened for the reply,
which soon came from the black chaparral across the clearing. He knew
where two of them were hiding, anyhow. Holden was muttering and tried
to answer the calls, and Red looked at him for the hundredth time that
night. He glanced out of the window again and noticed that there was a
glow in the eastern sky, and shortly afterwards dawn swiftly developed.
Pouring the last few drops of the precious water between the wounded
man's parched and swollen lips, he tossed the empty canteen from him and
stood erect.
"Pore devil," he muttered, shaking his head sorrowfully, as he realized
that Holden's delirium was getting worse all the time. "If you was all
right we could give them wolves hell to dance to. Well, you won't
know nothing about it if we go under, an' that's some consolation." He
examined his rifle and saw that the Colt at his thigh was fully loaded
and in good working order. "An' they'll pay us for their victory, by
God! They'll pay for it!" He stepped closer to the window, throwing the
rifle into the hollow of his arm.
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