Then he stretched out.
"Buck, will you take off my boots ?" he asked, with a faint smile on his pallid face.
Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he did not want to die with his boots on.

Stevens seemed to read his mind.
"Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged.

But I wasn't--an' dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way to croak." "You've a chance to-to get over this," said Duane.
"Shore.

But I want to be correct about the boots--an' say, pard, if I do go over, jest you remember thet I was appreciatin' of your kindness." Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundance of dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them.

After that was done he prepared himself a much-needed meal.