Free Desert of the Damned by Nelson Nye

sheriff turn him loose.
    He was tied, of course. That was it! Not caring to be bothered with a badly wounded prisoner, and naturally anxious to come up with the rest of the bunch involved in Schmole’s killing, they had tied him up like a turkey for the roasting, thrown a saddle blanket over him and gone on to Paradise. If he could loosen his bonds, if he could get free now….
    He listened into the night with a fiercer attention but caught no sound beyond the wind and the water. He stared into the shadows thickly blanketing the willow brake and found no indication that he had not been left alone. Consumed with impatience, with the need to be gone from here, he lay motionless, waiting, wanting to be sure before he made the faintest move.
    When he could stand it no longer he tried out his muscles once again to test the ropes. A cold shiver ran through him. He could hardly believe the evidence of his senses when, beneath that covering blanket, he felt his hands move freely. Scarcely daring to breathe he tried his feet and they moved, too.
Why, the fools hadn’t tied him!
    He threw off the blanket and came onto an elbow and still nothing happened except that his head started to pound and his chest felt as though a knife embedded there had been suddenly, viciously twisted.
    But he did not fall back, he couldn’t afford to give way to weakness. He had to get out of this goddam country before Lafe’s star-packers came back to fetch him. But he would have to go easy, kind of feel his way along. He dared not risk passing out again now.
    When his head quit whirling he eased himself over, got his hands and knees under him and gradually, with a great deal of care and considerable grunting, he got himself erect.
    He stood there, swaying, his body drenched in cold sweat.
    But he felt better now. The sounds from the creek made a very enticing melody and he straightened himself around and took a few steps toward it, his dehydrated body suddenly fire-hot again.
    The dark swaying masses of wind bent foliage and the alternate lacings of light and shadow tended to confuse his pounding head and did nothing whatever to make the going less difficult; and the way the goddam ground kept heaving he reckoned he was reeling like a pulque-drunk squaw. But presently he seemed to get his sea legs under him and managed to achieve a kind of whoppyjawed rhythm which permitted him to get a foot down each time the billowing ground surged up.
    But he hadn’t gone farther than a handful of paces when the awful craving for water that had hold of him threatened to propel him into a headlong run. He took himself in hand just in time. He had watched men lost on the desert go through this and had no hankering to start scooping up sand under the crazed illusion that he was lapping up water.
    He knew he wasn’t yet that bad off but he could see what might happen once he’d thrown himself down to get his face in the water. In his present condition he might never have the strength or the courage to get up.
    And time right now was paramount. He must get just as far from this place as he could before Sheriff Lafe and his boys got back. He never doubted for an instant they would come back. They’d be back all right, and if they got to talk with Breen they’d be coming like the devil emigrating on cart wheels. Breen would see to that.
    He peered around through the shadows to see if they’d left his horse. He didn’t think even a dimwit like Lafe would be dumb enough to leave a horse here for him, but he had to look anyway. He sure wouldn’t get far without one. It might have been that knowledge which had decided them to leave him here.
    Cripes, but he was weak! Every time he stood still his goddam knees got to knocking and the song from that creek just about set him crazy. He thought he might stand it if he could just have one swallow. But, scared to trust himself, he bent his steps toward the willows which was where the horse would be if they had left one