He drank from a canteen.

There was nothing else in his outfit; he had grown used to a scant fire.

Then he sat over the fire, palms outspread, and waited.

Waiting had been his chief occupation for months, and he scarcely knew what he waited for unless it was the passing of the hours.

But now he sensed action in the immediate present; the day promised another meeting with Lassiter and Lane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he meant to take the trail to Deception Pass.
And while he waited he talked to his dogs.