Range and
splashing its peaks with red; and then as the sun ascended it found gaps
in the eastern rim and laid long bands of light across the Sink. It rose
up higher and, as the desert stood forth bare, the dweller in the
dream-house stepped out through its portals and gazed long at the Death
Valley Trail. From the far north pass, where it came down from Wild
Rose, to where Blackwater sent up its thin smoke, the trail crept like a
serpent among the sandhills and washes, a long tenuous line through the
Sink. Where the ground was white the trail stood out darker, and where
it crossed the sun-burnt mesas it was white; but from one end to the
other it was vacant and nothing emerged from north pass. Billy sighed
and turned away, but when she came back there was a streak of dust to
the south.

It came tearing along the trail from Blackwater, struck up by a
galloping horseman, and at the spot where she had found the lost man the
night before the flying rider stopped. He rode about in circles, started
north and came dashing back; and at last, still galloping, he turned up
the wash and headed for the mouth of Jail Canyon. He was some searcher
who had found her tracks in the sand, and the tracks of Tellurium going
on; and, rather than follow the long trail to Wild Rose Springs, he was
coming to interview her. Billy ran down to meet him with long, rangey
strides, and at the point of the hill she stood waiting expectantly, for
visitors were rare at the ranch. Three restless lonely weeks had dragged
away without bringing a single wanderer to their doors; and now here was
a second man, fully as exciting as the first, because he was coming up
there to see _her_. Billy tucked up her curls beneath the brim of
her man's hat as she watched the laboring horse, but when she made out
who it was that was coming she gave up all thought of disguise.

"Hello, Dusty!" she called running gayly down to meet him, "are you
looking for Mr. Calhoun?"

"Oh, it's Mister, is it?" he yelled. "Well, have you seen the danged
whelp? Whoo, boy--where is he, Billy?"

"He went back!" she cried, "I lent him my mule. He told me he'd made a
rich strike!"

"A rich _strike_!" repeated the man and then he laughed and spurred
his drooping mount. He was tall and bony with a thin, hawk nose and eyes
sunk deep into his head. "A rich strike, eh?" he mimicked, and then he
laughed again, until suddenly his face came straight. "What's that you
said?" he shouted, "you d