He raised one of his stiffened arms and pointed to it.
"Follow that creek--four miles--and you'll come to Indian Joe's shack,"
he said.
"And a mile is just about our limit"
"Just about--your's," replied Billy. "I can't make another half. If we
had a fire--"
"IF--" wheezed Brokaw.
"If we had a fire," continued Billy. "We could warm ourselves, an' make
the Indian's shack easy, couldn't we?"
Brokaw did not answer. He had turned toward the creek when one of Billy's
pulseless hands fell heavily on his arm.
"Look here, Brokaw."
Brokaw turned. They looked into each other's eyes.
"I guess mebby you're a man, Brokaw," said Billy quietly. "You've done
what you thought was your duty. You've kept your word to th' law, an' I
believe you'll keep your word with me. If I say the word that'll save us
now will you go back to headquarters an' report me dead?" For a full half
minute their eyes did not waver.
Then Brokaw said:
"No."
Billy dropped his hand. It was Brokaw's hand that fell on his arm now.
"I can't do that," he said. "In ten years I ain't run out the white flag
once. It's something that ain't known in the service. There ain't a
coward in it, or a man who's afraid to die. But I'll play you square.
I'll wait until we're both on our feet, again, and then I'll give you
twenty-four hours the start of me."
Billy was smiling now. His hand reached out.
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