y to scarlet and for a few moments earth and sky
quivered in a lambent red fire. When the sun had shot clear of the
mountains, details of landscape and contrasts of color were accented.
Clear black of peaks, crimson of canyons, purple of rifts in the
ranges, bright moss green of cactus dots on the yellow desert floor. And
always to the west that far melting loveliness of blue and gold and
black that was the River Range. And always the quivering, parching air
that burned against the body like a furnace blast.

Ernest felt the heat more than Roger did and lost weight. But though he
complained a great deal he stuck to his work manfully.

After Ernest and Gustav had returned from Archer's Springs and the
ravages caused by the desert storm had been repaired, Roger started on a
hunt into the ranges for more window glass. He dared spend his money for
nothing but food.

He outfitted for a three day trip, carrying a blanket, the two-gallon
canteen, beans, canned pears and a batch of baking powder biscuits. Dick
gave him minute directions as to the location of different mines and of
springs, and Roger started off confidently.

There was very little glass left in the Goodloe mines where Roger had
located the oil. But Dick knew of mines some ten miles north along the
backbone of the ranges and these Roger had as an objective when he left
the camp in the yellow dawn.

He reached the Goodloe district by mid-morning. There was no trail to
the north but he jogged along all the afternoon by compass and sun,
keeping to the top of the ridge whenever possible. During all this time
he saw no sign of human habitation. Indeed the only living beings he
beheld that day were two buzzards circling meditatively over a distant
peak and a lonely coyote skulking against the sky on a neighboring
ridge. By six o'clock he was tired beyond expression and he had lost
all idea of the number of miles he had covered, so tortuous had been the
seemingly direct line of the ridge.

Roger was in no wise discomfitted or discouraged, however. He made his
camp in a little sandy draw on the side of the ridge which was full of
stunted cedars. He cut up one cedar for his fire and drew on the others
for sufficient twigs to cushion his blanket bed, then in spite of the
heat he slept the sleep that belongs to the open.

He was on his way at daylight, whistling cheerfully into the vast
distances that unrolled about him. Mid-morning came, and then noon. Half
the tim