Mountain Sheep

The first thing Ladd asked was to have the store of food that remained
spread out upon a tarpaulin. Assuredly, it was a slender enough
supply. The ranger stood for long moments gazing down at it. He was
groping among past experiences, calling back from his years of life on
range and desert that which might be valuable for the present issue.
It was impossible to read the gravity of Ladd's face, for he still
looked like a dead man, but the slow shake of his head told Gale much.
There was a grain of hope, however, in the significance with which he
touched the bags of salt and said, "Shore it was sense packin' all that
salt!"

Then he turned to face his comrades.

"That's little grub for six starvin' people corralled in the desert.
But the grub end ain't worryin' me. Yaqui can get sheep up the slopes.
Water! That's the beginnin' and middle an' end of our case."

"Laddy, I reckon the waterhole here never goes dry," replied Jim.

"Ask the Indian."

Upon being questioned, Yaqui repeated what he had said about the
dreaded ano seco of the Mexicans. In a dry year this waterhole failed.

"Dick, take a rope an' see how much water's in the hole."

Gale could not find bottom with a thirty foot lasso. The water was as
cool, clear, sweet as if it had been kept in a shaded iron receptacle.

Ladd welcomed this information with surprise and gladness.

"Let's see. Last year was shore pretty dry. Mebbe this summer won't
be. Mebbe our wonderful good luck'll hold. Ask Yaqui if he thinks it
'll rain."