"Where did you get it? The canteens were dry."

"Why, out of the waterhole, of course"; I was impatient that he could be
so stupid.

"You did? Well, unless God holds you in the palm of his hand you will be
good and sick. That water is full of germs. To say nothing of a dead cow
or two. I thought you had better sense than to drink water from holes in
the ground." I rose up and took another look at the oasis. Sure enough,
horns and a hoof protruded from one end of the mudhole. I sank back
weakly and wondered why I had ever thought I wanted to visit the
Navajos. I hoped my loved ones back in the Virginias would not know how
I died. It sounded too unromantic to say one passed out from drinking
dead cow! I might as well say here that evidently I was held firmly by
the Deity, for I felt no ill effects whatever. I couldn't eat any
supper, but I knew Smolley would soon blow in and it would not be
wasted.

As dusk settled around us we could almost hear the silence. Here and
there a prairie owl would whirl low to the ground with a throaty chuckle
for a time, but that soon ceased. Across the fire I could see the dull
glow of the Chief's cigarette, but the air was so quiet that not the
faintest odor of tobacco drifted to me. While we lolled there, half
waking, half dreaming, Old Smolley stepped noiselessly into camp and at
a wave of the Chief's hand swiftly emptied the coffeepot and skillet. He
wiped his greasy mouth on his sleeve and said: "Sing-sing this night.
Three braves sick. Sing 'em well. You wanna see?"

Did we! I was up and ready before his last word was out. We followed him