"There's that spring the four women up here pack water from--but that goes dry in August.

And there's the creek--that goes dry too.
On the dead, I feel sorry for the women--and so does Irish," he added dryly.
Irish made an uncivil retort and swung suddenly away from the group.
"I'm going to ride into town, boys," he announced curtly.

"I'll be back in the morning and go on day-herd." "Maybe you will and maybe you won't," Weary amended somewhat impatiently.

"This is certainly a poor time for Irish to break out," he added, watching his double go galloping toward the town road.
"I betche he comes back full and tries to clean out all them nesters," Happy Jack predicted.

For once no one tried to combat his pessimism--for that was exactly what every one of them believed would happen.
"He's stayed sober a long while--for him," sighed Weary, who never could quite shake off a sense of responsibility for the moral defections of his kinsman.