mark the spot--just here, you see.

"Now, I shall have Mateo bring the blankets here under the tree. I
feel the need of a little sleep, myself. How about you? We start back
at dark, by the way."

"How about that duck hunting?"

"Ducks? Oh, Mateo will hunt the ducks!" Cliff permitted himself a
superior smile. "We shall have sufficient outlet for any surplus
energy without going duck hunting. You had better turn in when I do."

"No, I slept enough to do me, at a pinch. If Mateo can get a horse, I
want to ride up on this pinnacle and take a look-see over the country.
I can get the lay of things a whole lot better than goggling a month at
your doggone maps."

Cliff took a minute to think it over and gave a qualified consent.
"Don't go far, and don't talk to any one you may meet--though there is
no great chance of meeting any one. I suppose," he added grudgingly,
"it will be a good idea for you to get the lay of the country in your
mind. Though the map can give you all you need to know, I should
think."

On a scrawny little sorrel that Mateo brought up from some hidden
pasture where the feed was apparently short, Johnny departed, aware of
Mateo's curious, half-suspicious stare. He had a full canteen from the
car and a few ragged slices of bread wrapped in paper with a little
boiled ham. In spite of the fact that he had lately forsworn so tame a
thing as riding, he was glad to be on a horse once more, though be
wished it was a better animal.

He climbed the hill, zigzagging back and forth to make easier work for
the pony, until he was high above the live-oak belt and coming into
shale rock and rubble that made hard going for the horse. He
dismounted, led the pony to a shelving, rock-made shade, and tied him
there. Then, with canteen and food slung over his shoulder, Johnny
climbed to the peak and sat down puffing on the shady side of one of
the twin columns.

Seen close, they were huge, steeple-like outcroppings of rock, with
soil-filled crevices that gave foothold for bushes. In all the country
around Johnny could see no other hilltop that in the least resembled
this, so it did not seem to him likely that he would ever miss his way
when he travelled the air lanes.

For awhile he sat gazing out over the country, which seemed a
succession of green valleys, hidden from one another by high hills or
wooded ridges. Mexico lay before him, across the valley and a hill or
two--fifteen miles, Cliff Lowell ha