drift still whirled in fitful gusts; but the air no longer carried the
scorch of burning oil. The sky that had blazed all day in fiery brass
darkened and closed near to earth, a throbbing thing of the Desert
night brooding over life: a oneness of space rimmed round by the red
sky line.

"Hullo," exclaimed Wayland, pointing to the bank. "We are not so far
behind: there is the freshly opened cache."

Where the cutway caved to a hollow lay a hole littered with empty cans
and canvas bags.

"Not much value left, eh? Hold on, Wayland, this might be useful."
Matthews had picked up a skin water bag. It was full of tepid water.

"They're harder pressed than I thought. They've had water stored here.
They'll rest somewhere in the cutway to-night. We'll likely run them
down before morning if our horses can stand it."

Back at the rock, the Ranger was cooking their supper over a fire of
withered moss and pinon chips, keeping the old man's mind off his
fevered thirst by calling attention to the tricks of Desert growth to
save water.

"You see the cactus turns its leaves into water vats with spikes to
keep intruders off; and the greasewood stops evaporation by a varnish
of gum. I'm sun-veneered all right. I don't sweat all my moisture
out--"

"Better varnish me, then, before ye take me out again."

Less than a pint of water had seeped into the little kettle; and this
they used for their tea, mixing the flour with the stale water from the
mud pool. Then, they lighted pipes and lay back to rest.

Wayland had placed the kettle back under the drip of the ledge.

"A can understand Moses smitin' the rocks for a spring; and such a wind
as we had to-day blowin' the Red Sea dry," observed the old man
dreamily.

"I guess if you get any miracle down to close quarters, you'll sort it
out all right without busting common sense," returned Wayland.

He wasn't thinking of the day's hardships.

The silver strip of the far mountains had faded; first, the purple
base; then, the melting opal summit. At last, the restless wind had
sunk. The red rocks of the mesa darkened to spectral shapes. The
heat, the scorch, the torrid pain of the day had calmed to the soft
velvet caress of the indigo Desert night. Twice, the Ranger dozed off
to wake with a start, with a sense of her hand warning danger. Always
before, the thought of her had come in an involuntary consciousness
whelmed of happiness; but to-night, was it . . . fear?