azy sweep of
wings.

"You would wonder what they could find to eat here, if it were not for
the snakes and the lizards."

"Perhaps, we'll _not_ wonder so much before we finish."

Wayland looked at the old frontiersman again. He was riding heavily,
sagged forward, with one hand on the high pommel of the Mexican saddle.

"Talk about the heroes o' cold in the North," he said. "'Tis easy!
Y'r cold buoys a man up! This stews the life out before ye have a
fightin' chance! Y' could light a match on these saddle buckles."

"I think I see sand hills ahead. If there's any shade, we'll rest till
twilight."

The lava rocks rolled to a trough of sand; and the light lay a
shimmering lake in the alkali sink.

"Is that what y' call a false pond?"

"No, I hope you'll not see any false ponds this trip! False pond is in
your head or your eye; and the harder you ride, the faster it runs.
Let's get out of this wind!"

Wayland noticed the horses paw restlessly and nose at the gravel when
they crossed the dry bed of a spring stream.

"Think y' could dig down to water with y'r axe, Wayland?"

The Ranger pointed to the wide cracks in the baked earth, dry as flour
dust deep as they could see. The mule led the way at a run up the next
sand roll.

"Think he smells water, Wayland?"

Another broad mesa rolled away to the silver strip of mountain on the
sky line; but the fore ground broke into slabs and blocks of red stone.
Wayland examined the trail. It twisted in and out among the rocks
towards more broken country.

"There may be a canyon leading South over there," he pointed.

"Y' might try for a spring beneath that big rock. Looks green at the
bottom."

A mist as of primrose or fire tinged the lakes of quivering light lying
on the ochre-colored mesas. The sun hung close to the silver strip of
mountain exaggerated to a huge dull blood-red shield.

"Wayland, is this desert light red or is it that A'm seein' red?"

The Ranger looked a third time at his companion. The old man sat more
erect; but his eyes were blood shot. A puff of wind, a lift and fall
and drift of sand, the wind met them in a peppering shower of hot shot.

"Is that a rain cloud comin' up?"

Wayland glanced back. The heavy dust rose a red-black curtain above
the flame-crested ridges of orange sand.

"You're a churchman, sir! You should know! Ever read in Scripture of
the cloud by day and the pillar by night? Ever think what that might
mean