actual murder."

"All he'd have to do would be to quit the boy while he was asleep. A
tenderfoot would die of thirst over there in a short time."

"Is there no water?"

"There's a tenaja they're depending on. But I doubt if they find any
water there now. It's been an extra dry season."

"A tenaja?" queried the Ad-Visor.

"Rock-basin holding rainwater," explained the hunter. "There's been
no rainfall since August. If they find the tenaja empty they'll, have
barely enough in the canteens they pack to get them to the next water,
the Tenaja Poquita, around behind the mountains and across the desert
into the next range."

"What's the next water to that?"

"The Stream of Palms. That's a day and a half on foot."

For the space of a hundred oar-strokes Average Jones ruminated.

"Suppose--er--they didn't--er--find any water in the Tenaja Poquita,
either?" he drawled.

"Then they would be up against it."

"And there's no other water in the Pintos?"

"Yes, there is," said the captain. "There's a tenaja that's so high up
and so hidden that it's only known to one other man besides me, and he's
an Indian. It's less than an hour from the tenaja that Richford will
take his party to. And we're sure of finding water there. It never dries
up this early."

"Get me to young Hoff, then, Captain. You're in command from the moment
we land."

It was broad day when the keel pushed softly into the muddy bottom of a
long, shallow arm of the lake. Captain Funcke rose, stretched the kinks
out of his back, and jumped ashore.

"You say I'm in command?" he inquired.

"Absolute."

"Then you roll up under that mesquite and fall asleep. I'm going to cast
about for their trail."

To the worn-out oarsman, it seemed only a few moments later that an
insistent grip on his shoulder aroused him. But the overhead sun, whose
direct rays were fairly boiling the sweat out of him, harshly corrected
this impression.

"I've found their boat," said Captain Funcke. "The trail heads for the
Pintos. They're traveling heavy. I don't believe they're twenty-four
hours ahead of us."

Average Jones stumbled to his feet. "I'm ready," he said.

"It's a case of travel light." The hunter handed over a small bag of
food and a large canteen full of water. He himself packed a much larger
load, including two canteens and a powerful field-glass. Taking a
shotgun from the boat, he shouldered it, and set out at a long, easy
stride.

To Average Jones the memo