growling undertone. Later he seemed to sink into a stupor and
appeared to be scarcely conscious of his companions. Suddenly he
roused himself and, bending forward with a quick motion, reached the
canteen from under the driver's seat. In the act of unscrewing the
cap he was halted by the calm-voice of Texas: "Put that back."

"Go to hell wid ye! I'm no sun-dried herrin'."

The cap came loose, but as he raised the canteen and lifted his face
with open parched lips he looked straight into the muzzle of the big
forty-five and back of the gun into the steady eyes of the
plainsman. "I'm sorry, pard, but you can't do it."

For an instant the Irishman sat as if suddenly turned to stone. The
water was within reach of his lips, but over the canteen certain
death looked at him, for there was no mistaking the expression on
the face of that man with the gun. Beside himself with thirst,
forgetting everything but the water, and utterly reckless he
growled: "Shoot an' be domned, ye murderin' savage!" and again
started to lift the cloth-covered vessel.

At that instant the baby, catching sight of the canteen, called from
the rear seat: "Barba wants drink. Barba thirsty, too."

As though Texas had pulled the trigger the Irishman dropped his
hand. Slowly he looked from face to face of his companions--a dazed
expression on his own countenance, as though he were awakening from
a dream. The child, clinging to the Seer with one hand and pointing
with the other, said again: "Barba thirsty; please give Barba
drink."