By Julia Wall
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Extra resources for Shipwreck Detectives
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The skin on his hands looked wrinkled... like the hands of a very old man. An Indian out there moved, and Callaghen fired without looking at his piece; he looked only at the Indian. The Mohave stumbled and fell. That would put a scare into them. Indians were wise they saw no advantage in a victory bought with the death of their own warriors. They did not believe in losing men to gain ground, or losing a man for any reason if it could be avoided. They were not afraid to die, but they knew that a dead warrior kills no enemies.
I got a notion to stay right here," he said. " "You'll make it," Callaghen said cheerfully. " Walsh looked thoughtful as he saw the way Croker's eyes remained on Callaghen. Walsh was keenly sensitive to the strengths and weaknesses of other men. A coward himself, he had no envy for the brave, although in his own way he respected them, and he feared them as willing to do things he might hesitate to do. There was something in Croker's eyes now that puzzled him, some peculiar intentness that set him to wondering.
At last he sat back, hands hanging, and watched. Slowly, water began to seep into the hole. He dipped up a little, and touched his lips with it, letting a few drops fall on his tongue. A drop or two went down his throat, and he felt a delicious coolness go all through him. When he could get a few mouthfuls down his throat, he took up his rifle and walked out to where Croker sat. "Go on back for a while," he said. " Croker stared at him, incredulous. Then he scrambled to his feet, and fell. He got up slowly, and went back through the mesquite.