"I guess we're up against another thunderstorm," he said. "My opinion
of the mid-continental climate is singularly mean, but I'd put this
strip of Canada near the limit. Our Texan northers are fierce when
they come along, but here it blows all the time."

"We'll make camp, if you like; I don't feel very fresh," Blake replied.

"Not here," snapped Harding, "Where I stop I sleep, and I've no use for
sheltering under the cart. Last time we tried it the pony stampeded
and the wheel went over my foot. The tent's no good; you'd want a
chain to stop its blowing away. We'll go on until we bring up to lee
of a big, solid bluff."

"Very well," Blake agreed. "I daresay we ought to find one in the
hollow we got a glimpse of from the last rise, but we haven't had to
put up with much discomfort yet."

"It's a matter of opinion; you haven't limped forty miles on a bad
foot, but I'm not complaining," Harding rejoined, "In fact, I've most
been happy since we left the depot. It's something to feel that you
have started; doing nothing takes the sand out of me."

Blake had once or twice suggested that his comrade should ride, but the
pony was overburdened and Harding refused. He explained that they
could not expect to sell it in a worn-out condition, but his partner
suspected him of sympathy for the patient beast.

They crossed the ridge and seeing a wavy line of trees in the wide
hollow, quickened their pace. The soil was firmer, the scrub the
wheels crushed through was short, and the trail led smoothly down a
slight descent. This was comforting, because half the sky was barred
with leaden cloud and the parched grass gleamed beneath it lividly
white, while the light that struck a ridge-top here and there had a
sinister luridness. It was getting cold and the wind was dropping,
which was not a favourable sign.

Pushing the cart through the softer places, dragging the jaded pony by
the head, they hurried on and at length plunged through a creek with
the trees close in front. A few minutes later they tethered the pony
to lee of the cart and set up their tent. Then, while Blake was
rummaging out provisions and Harding searching the bluff for dry
sticks, they heard a beat of hoofs and a man rode up, leading a second
horse. He got down and throwing a bundle off his saddle hobbled the
beasts before he turned to Blake.

"From the south? You're for Sweetwater?" he said.

Blake told him he had guessed correctly, and asked ho