So Bland crawled back again and cursed the land that knew such heat, and himself for being in it, and presently slept again.
Hunger woke Johnny at last, and he straight-way woke Bland, politely intimating that it was about time he got busy and did something.
Johnny did not propose to settle down for life in that neighborhood, he pointed out.

There must be something they could do, if the darned engine wasn't broken anywhere.
Bland, too miserable to argue, sat up and pushed greasy fingers through his lank hair.

Having remained alive and unharmed for so long in that neighborhood, his faith in Johnny's knowledge of Indians waxed stronger.

He began to think less of his danger and more about the motor.
The thing mystified him, who could tear a motor apart and put it together again.

What he felt he ought to do was impossible for lack of the proper tools, Johnny's emergency kit being quite as useless for any real emergency as such kits usually are.