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