rotected.

"String some wire about six inches apart around your four poles and
weave yucca stalks in and out. It makes a bully cool wall and keeps the
varmints out," said Dick.

"My heavens, man! I haven't time to do raffia work," cried Roger, half
laughing, half serious.

"I'll do it for you," said Felicia. "I can weave like I did in school.
And if I do that, Charley won't make me have lessons with her every
day."

"Oh, won't I!" returned Charley. "Roger, you get the wires up. That
won't take but a few minutes and when old Fanny Squaw comes along in a
week or so to sell ollas I'll send her down to cut and weave yucca for
you. It can't cost you more than four bits. In the meantime, I can let
you have some supplies to tide you over till some one goes to town."

"You see what it means to have brains in the family," said Dick.

"It's lucky some one in this bunch possesses them," laughed Roger. "By
the way, how do there come to be stray burros in the mountains?"

"Miners die or desert them and they go wild," replied Dick. "I must try
to catch and tame one for Felicia, after the alfalfa is in. Which
reminds me that I must get on the job. I've got your barrel of water
ready in the wagon, so come along."

The start was late that day and they had not gone down a foot when they
struck rock. Another trip had to be made to the Prebles to procure some
sticks of dynamite from Dick's little store at the neglected turquoise
mine. And still no sign of water.

The evenings were lonely. At first the two went frequently to the ranch
house, as Dick, sweating in his barren alfalfa fields, insisted that the
house be called. But everybody was too tired for social effort. Dick was
grading and plowing all day long and Charley, after her housework was
finished, often drove for him in the field. The mid-day heat and the
unwonted labor made Ernest and Roger glad to go to bed early. After they
had eaten supper and cleared up the dishes, they would build a little
fire in the sand outside the living tent and for an hour sit before it.
Even on chilly evenings the fire had to be small, for the firewood was
bought from Dick's none too great supply. He in turn bought from an
Indian who cut mesquite far up in the ranges and toted it by burro pack
to the corral.

Ernest, sitting thus, would pluck at his banjo and sing to the stars,
finding ease thus for his homesick heart. Roger sat in silent
contemplation, now of the fire, now of the stars. In