nted to be forced back up the bank, where they nibbled at the short
tufts of herbage, but in a manner expressive of weariness. Keith flung
himself on the ground, every muscle of his body aching, his exposed
flesh still smarting from the hail of sand through which they had
passed.

He had not the slightest conception as to where they were, except
he knew this must be the Salt Fork. Utterly confused by the maze
of shifting dunes, through whose intricacies they had somehow found
passage, the blackness of the night yielded no clue as to their point
of emergence. The volume of water in the stream alone suggested that in
their wanderings they must have drifted to the eastward, and come out
much lower down than had been originally intended. If so, then they
might be almost directly south of Carson City, and in a section with
which he was totally unacquainted. One thing was, however, certain--they
would be compelled to wait for daylight to ascertain the truth, and
decide upon their future movements. There was another barren, sandy
stretch of desolation lying between this isolated valley and that of
the Canadian, and their horses would never stand to be pushed forward
without both rest and food. As to themselves--they had eaten their
last crumb long since, but this was not the first time both had known
starvation.

Keith arose reluctantly, and removed the saddles from the animals,
hobbling them so they could graze at will. Neb was propped up beneath
an out-cropping of the bank, which partly protected him from the wind, a
mere hulk of a shadow. Keith could not tell whether he slept or not, but
made no effort to disturb him. A moment he stared vacantly about into
the black silence, and then lay down, pillowing his head upon a saddle.
He found it impossible to sleep, the chill of the wind causing him to
turn and twist, in vain search after comfort, while unappeased hunger
gnawed incessantly. His eyes ranged about over the dull gloom of the
skies until they fell again to the earth level, and then he suddenly sat
up, half believing himself in a dream--down the stream, how far away
he could not judge, there gleamed a steady, yellowish light. It was no
flicker of a camp fire, yet remained stationary. Surely no star could be
so low and large; nor did he recall any with that peculiarity of color.
If such a miracle was possible in the heart of that sandy desert he
would have sworn it was a lamp shining through a window. But he had
never