Thirty-OneBy the time Dixon and Rupert reached the town's main street, both of them were close to collapse. Forced to walk all the way from the camp, and with little shade to protect them, they drained the last of the water from their canteens and stumbled into the saloon.
A few bedraggled customers turned curious faces towards the doors as the two of them came in. Already the barman was filling up two mugs full of beer. “Not too sure if the boy should be—” he began, but Dixon cut him off by wrenching one of the mugs from his hand and shoving into Rupert's own. Uplifting his own, Dixon drained it in one. Rupert took his time, wincing at first, but eventually finished his too.
“Dear God,” said Dixon and leaned back against the bar. He gave off a loud whoop of victory. “Damned if it ain't
