Cliffs, however, had occurred that rare phenomenon, a benevolent
avalanche, piling up a safe and feasible embankment around the angle of
an impracticable precipice, and thus saving an hour of the most ticklish
going of the journey. Thanks to this dispensation, the two men reached
the Tenaja Poquita before dawn. Scouting ahead, the captain reported no
fresh trail except coyotes and mule deer, and not more than seventy-five
gallons of water in the basin. Of this they both drank deeply. Then
after they had filled all the canteens, Average Jones unfolded his
scheme to the captain.

"If any one caught us at it," commented that experienced hunter, "we'd
be shot without warning. However, the water would be evaporated in a
few days anyhow, and I'll post notices at the next watercamps. I'm with
you."

Taking turn and turn about with the pail, they bailed out the
rock-basin, scattering the water upon the greedy sand. What little
moisture remained in the sticky mud at the bottom they blotted up with
more sand. They then rolled in boulders. Average Jones looked down into
the hollow with satisfaction, and moved his full canteens into a grotto.

"This company," he said, "is now open for business."

At eight o'clock there was a clatter of boots upon the rocks and two men
came staggering up the defile. Colonel Richford and his partner did
not look to be in good repair. The colonel's face was drawn and
sun-blotched. His companion, the "Fred" of Silent Charley's bar,
was bloated and shaken with liquor. Both panted with the hard, dry,
open-lipped breath of the first stage of thirst-exhaustion. The colonel,
who was in the lead, checked and started upon discovering astride of
a rock a pleasant visaged young man of a familiar American type, whose
appearance was in nowise remarkable except as to locality. With a grunt
that might have been greeting, but was more probably surprise, the
newcomer passed the seated man. Captain Funcke he did not see at all.
That astute hunter had dropped behind a boulder.

At the brink of the tenaja the colonel stopped dead. Then with an
outburst of flaming language, he leaped in, burrowing among the rocks.

"Dry!" he yelled, lifting a furious and appalled face to his companion.

Fred stood staring from Average Jones to his three canteens. There was a
murderous look on his sinister face.

"Got water?" he growled.

"Yes," replied the young man.

"Here, Colonel," said Fred. "Here's drink for us."

"For