mouth was a horrible object with the lips working convulsively. They spared a little water to moisten mouth and throat until he mechanically swallowed some. Then they got him up. His legs were limp as rags. All the strength had gone out of him.
The three looked at each other.
"I reckon we made 'bout fifteen mile yestiddy," rasped Harvey. "'Bout th' same to Clear Crick. Goin' ter be hard sleddin without him. S'pose you two try 'n make it. I'll stay with him. You kin send back.'
Stone looked at Larkin.
"He said we'd have to carry him," he essayed in a husky whisper. "Well, he wins. But I'm not doing it because of the gold. I wouldn't leave a poor devil in this griddle of hell for a mountain of it. Not that he'll ever credit us. You go ahead, Harvey. Larkin and I will bring him along between us as best we can. Eh, Lefty?"
"We can make a bandy-chair of our 'ands and wrists for 'im," said Larkin. "'E's a mucker but 'e's 'uman. And you 'urry hup, 'Arvey, becos I'm needin' my breakfast," he grinned.
It was the best solution. Harvey was as strong as either of them and he knew more about the desert. They had one more united look at the map. They could hardly lose the way the rising sun showed them, using their figures for shadow pointers. The Mogollon ended westward in a tongue of land formed by the wedge of Clear Creek Cañon, deeply indented, a gap they could not miss. There was no time wasted
