"Not even to tickle Buddy.

I'll see what I can do when we reach Olathe.

But you won't have to take a man's place and drive, Lassie." He took the cup of water she drew from a keg and proffered-water was precious on the Staked Plains, that season-and his eyes dwelt on her fondly while he drank.

Then, giving her hand a squeeze when he returned the cup, he rode back to scan the herd for an animal big enough and well-conditioned enough to supplant the worn-out ox.
"Aren't you thirsty, Frank Davis?
I think a cup of water will do you good," she called out to the cowboy, who had dismounted to tighten his forward cinch in expectation of having to use his rope.
The cowboy dropped stirrup from saddle horn and came forward stiff-leggedly, leading his horse.

His sun-baked face, grimed with the dust of the herd, was aglow with heat, and his eyes showed gratitude.
A cup of water from the hand of the boss's wife was worth a gallon from the barrel slip-slopping along in the lurching chuck-wagon.
"How's the kids makin' out, Mis' Birnie ?" Frank inquired politely when he had swallowed the last drop and had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.