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Dan Morgan told himself he would forget Ann Turner.

If he had married her, he'd have been asking for trouble.

Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night thinking of Ann, and then could not get back to sleep.

His plans and dreams had revolved around her so much and for so long that now he felt as if he had nothing.

He found that if he was tired enough at night, he went to sleep simply because he was too exhausted to stay awake.

Each day he found himself thinking less often of Ann ; ;

He could not afford to lose a drop of the precious water, so he spent most of his waking hours along the ditches in his meadows.

In any case, he had no intention of being caught asleep, so he carried his revolver in its holster on his hip and he took his Winchester with him and leaned it against the fence.

He stopped every few minutes and leaned on his shovel as he studied the horizon, but nothing happened, each day dragging out with monotonous calm.

When, in late afternoon on the last day in June, he saw two people top the ridge to the south and walk toward the house, he quit work immediately and strode to his rifle.

When they were closer and he saw that one was a woman, he was more puzzled than ever.

Now he saw that both the man and woman were moving slowly and irregularly, staggering, as if they found it a struggle to remain on their feet.

Reaching the house ahead of them, he waited with his Winchester in his hands.

They crawled through the north fence and came on toward him, and now he saw that both were young, not more than nineteen or twenty.

`` In the kitchen '', he said.

Leaning his Winchester against the front of the house, he walked to the girl.

She was amazingly light, and so relaxed in his arms that he wasn't even sure she was conscious.

She drank greedily, and murmured, `` Thank you '', as he lowered her head.