ly not for a season. For weeks there would be weeping and
wailing in the tents of the Tenawas. If the renegade had any hope of
being rescued from his present captivity, it could not be by them. He
might have some thought of escape, taking the Rangers by the route he
proposed to them. On this score they had no apprehension--not the
slightest. Suspicious, they would keep close watch upon him; shoot him
down like a dog at the first sign of his attempting to deceive them.
And, as Cully remembered having heard of this trail over the Staked
Plain, it was most probable the Mexican had no other object than to
bring them to the end of their journey in the shortest time and
straightest course. All knew it would be a near cut, and this decided
them in its favour.

After parting from Pecan Creek, with their faces set westward, they had
a journey before them anything but easy or pleasant. On the contrary,
one of the most difficult and irksome. For it lay across a sterile
tract--the great gypsum bed of North-western Texas, on which abut the
bluffs of the Llano Estacado. Mile after mile, league after league; no
"land in sight," to use a prairie-man's phrase--nothing but level plain,
smooth as a sleeping sea; but, unlike the last, without water--not a
sheet to cheer their eyes, not a drop to quench the thirst, almost
choking them. Only its resemblance, seen in the white mist always
moving over these arid plains--the deluding, tantalising mirage. Lakes
lay before them, their shores garlanded by green trees, their bosoms
enamelled with islets smiling in all the verdure of spring--always
before them, ever receding; the trees, as the water, never to be
reached!

Water they do arrive at more than once--streams rushing in full flow
across the barren waste. At sight they ride towards them rapidly.
Their horses need not to be spurred. The animals suffer as themselves,
and rush on with outstretched necks, eager to assuage their thirst.
They dip their muzzles, plunge in their heads till half-buried, only to
draw out again and toss them aloft with snorts of disappointment shaking
the water like spray from their nostrils. It is salt!

For days they have been thus journeying. They are wearied, worn down by
fatigue, hungry; but more than all, tortured by the terrible thirst--
their horses as themselves. The animals have become reduced in flesh
and strength; they look like skeletons staggering on, scarce able to
carry their riders.