IN THE TULES. 113

“Then send fifteen miles! Stop.” He opened his still clinging shirt and drew out a belt pouch, which he threw to Morse. “There! there ’s two hundred and fifty dollars in that. Now, I want a horse. Sabe .9 ”

“Thar ain’t any one to send,” said Morse, quietly.

“Do you mean to say you are all alone here?”

“Yes.”

“And you fished me out—all by your- self?”

“Yes.”

The stranger again examined him curi- ously. Then he suddenly stretched out his hand and grasped his companions

“All right; if you can’t send, I reckon I can manage to walk over there to-mor- row.”

“I was goin’ on to say,” said Morse, sim- ply, “that if you ’ll lie by to-night, I’ll start over sun up, after puttin’ out the cat- tle, and fetch you back a horse afore noon.”

“That’s enough.” He, however, re- mained looking curiously at Morse. “Did you never hear,” he said, with a singular

smile, “that it was about the meanest kind