"Well, how did you make it?" he called.
Winthrop came forward wearily "No luck at all."
"Couldn't find it, eh?"
"I counted every tie between the tank and that little ditch under the
track. The entire stretch has been relaid with new ties."
Overland whistled. Then he grinned. "You had a good healthy walk,
anyhow," he observed.
"It doesn't seem to worry you much," said Winthrop.
"Nope. Now you're back, it don't. I reckon you done your dam'dest as
the song says. Angels can do no less. Buck up, Billy! You 're limper'n a
second-hand porous-plaster. Here, take a shot at this. That will stiffen
your knees some. Did you meet up with anybody?"
"Not a soul. I thought I should freeze last night, though. I didn't
imagine the desert could get so cold."
"Livin' out here on the old dry spot will either kill you or cure you.
That's one reason I let you go look for them things. The harder you hit
the trail, and can stand it, the quicker you'll get built up." Then
Overland, realizing that his companion was worse than tired, that he was
dispirited, became as wily as the proverbial serpent. His method,
however, could hardly be compared with the dove's conciliatory cooing.
"You sure are a bum scout," he began.
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