The voice of Hawks came to him. "Stay there while I get the boss."
The dismounted cowboy watched Hawks ride away, then lay down in the hot sand and let the sun bake him. He felt sick and weak, as helpless as a blind and wobbly pup.
It may have been an hour later that he heard voices and looked across to the mouth of the ravine. Harshaw and Big Bill and Dud were there with Hawks. They were in a group working with ropes.
Harshaw rode into the river. He carried a coil of rope. Evidently two or more lariats had been tied together.
"Come out far as you can and catch this rope when I throw it," Harshaw told the marooned cowboy.
Bob ventured out among the willows, wading very carefully to make sure of his footing. The current swirled around his thighs and tugged at him.
The cattleman flung the rope. It fell short. He pulled it in and rewound the coil. This time he drove his horse into deeper water. The animal was swimming when the loop sailed across to the willows.
Dillon caught it, slipped it over his body, and drew the noose tight. A moment later he was being tossed about by the cross-currents. The lariat tightened. He was dragged under as the force of the torrent flung him into midstream. His body was racked by conflicting forces tugging at it. He was being torn in two, the victim of a raging battle going on to possess him. Now he was on his face, now on his back. For an instant he caught a glimpse of blue sunlit sky before he plunged down again into the black waters and was engulfed by them....
He opened his eyes. Dud's voice came from a long way.
"Comin' to all right. Didn't I tell you this bird couldn't drown?"
The mists cleared. Bob saw Dud's cheerful smile, and back of it the faces of Harshaw, Hawks, and Big Bill.
"Sure did, Bob. You're some drookit, but I reckon we can dry you like we did the grub," his riding mate said.
"We all took a hand, boy," Harshaw explained. "It was quite some job. You were headed for Utah right swift. The boys rode in and claimed ownership. How you feelin'?"
"Fine," Bob answered, and he tried to demonstrate by rising.
"Hold on. What's yore rush?" Harshaw interrupted. "You're right dizzy, I expect. A fellow can't swallow the Blanco and feel like kickin' a hole in the sky right away. Take yore time, boy."