yes again, only to find that she could make
out nothing familiar. Undoubtedly she was lost; the water-hole might be
anywhere. She listened tensely, and the very air seemed to listen with
her; the leaves hushed their faint whisperings; a near-by cactus held
its forty fleshy ears alert, while others more distant poised in the
same harkening attitude. It seemed to the woman that a thousand ears
were straining with hers, yet no sound came save only the monotonous
crescendo and diminuendo of those locust-cries coming out of nowhere
and retreating into the voids. At last, as if satisfied, the leaves
began to whisper softly again.

Away to her left lay the yellow flood of the Rio Grande, but the woman,
though tempted to swing in that direction, knew better than to yield.
At least twenty miles of barrens lay between, and she told herself that
she could never cover such a distance. No, the water-hole was nearer;
it must be close at hand. If she could only think a little more
clearly, she could locate it. Once more she tried, as she had tried
many times before, to recall the exact point where she had shot her
horse, and to map in her mind's eye the foot-weary course she had
traveled from that point onward.

Desert travel was nothing new to her, thirst and fatigue were old
acquaintances, yet she could not help wondering if, in spite of her
training, in spite of that inborn sense of direction which she had
prided herself upon sharing with the wild creatures, she were fated to
become a victim of the chaparral. The possibility was remote; death at
this moment seemed as far off as ever--if anything it was too far off.
No, she would find the water-hole somehow; or the unexpected would
happen, as it always did when one was in dire straits. She was too
young and too strong to die yet. Death was not so easily won as this.

Rising, she readjusted the strap of the empty water-bag over her
shoulder and the loose cartridge-belt at her hip, then set her dusty
feet down the slope.

Day died lingeringly. The sun gradually lost its cruelty, but a partial
relief from the heat merely emphasized the traveler's thirst and
muscular distress. Onward she plodded, using her eyes as carefully as
she knew how. She watched the evening flight of the doves, thinking to
guide herself by their course, but she was not shrewd enough to read
the signs correctly. The tracks she found were old, for the most part,
and they led in no particular direction, nowhere