What should he do with him now?
He couldn't keep him standing there forever with his hands over his head.
"Got any water ?" he demanded.
"There's a canteen of water on the mule." Marcus moved toward the mule and made as if to reach the bridle-rein.
The mule squealed, threw up his head, and galloped to a little distance, rolling his eyes and flattening his ears.
Marcus swore wrathfully.
"He acted that way once before," explained McTeague, his hands still in the air.

"He ate some loco-weed back in the hills before I started." For a moment Marcus hesitated.

While he was catching the mule McTeague might get away.

But where to, in heaven's name?
A rat could not hide on the surface of that glistening alkali, and besides, all McTeague's store of provisions and his priceless supply of water were on the mule.

Marcus ran after the mule, revolver in hand, shouting and cursing.