William had saved what he could.
Casey read the whole story in the sand.

The four cans were bent with gaping seams, and their sides were scored with the prints of William's hoofs.

In a corner of one of them Casey found a scant half-cup of water, which he drank greedily.

It could no more than ease for a moment his parched throat; it could not satisfy his thirst.
After that he led William back along the trail until the mounting sun warned him that he was making no headway on his journey to the Tippipahs, and that with no tracks in sight he had small hope of tracing the burros.
It was sundown again before he gave up hope, and Casey's thirst was a demon within him.

He had wasted a day, he told himself grimly.