If I had--my life--to live over again! ...

My poor kids--deserted in their babyhood--ruined for life! All for nothin'....
May God forgive--" Then he choked and whispered for water.
Ellen laid his head back and, rising, she took his sombrero and started hurriedly down the slope, making dust fly and rocks roll.

Her mind was a seething ferment.

Leaping, bounding, sliding down the weathered slope, she gained the bench, to run across that, and so on down into the open canyon to the willow-bordered brook.

Here she filled the sombrero with water and started back, forced now to walk slowly and carefully.