gh
once or twice for several days we came across only a small creek or
two. There were signs that in some seasons it would be a dry country."

He broke off and looked up at the range, while the faces of the others
grew intent as they watched him.

"In a way all that's familiar," he said; "but I've felt the same thing
in other places, and I can't be sure."

"Anyway," remarked Weston, "if there was a lake up yonder, the creek
would naturally flow through the valley. It must have an outlet, and
we're going up-grade."

"The creek," said Grenfell, sharply, "went down the other side. The
lake lies just over a low divide."

Weston started a little and put away his pipe.

"Boys," he said, "we'll get on again."

They went on, and the memory of that afternoon long remained with
them. They were grimed with black dust and ashes, and the ranks of
charred trunks cast only thin strips of shade, while a scorching sun
poured down an almost intolerable heat into the deep valley. The
ground was ankle-deep in dust and charcoal, and, as they floundered
through it, feathery ash rose in clouds. Their clothing grew crusted
with it, and it worked through and irritated their heated skin; while
every now and then one of them was compelled to stop and splutter.
Their throats, as Grenfell remarked, certainly felt very much like
ash-heaps. None of them had drunk anything since supper the night
before, and then only a very little water that tasted alkaline.

Still, except for the loose deposit that made walking difficult, the
ground was comparatively clear, and they pushed on, making a detour
only now and then around a fallen tree, or waiting for Grenfell, who
lagged behind and limped, until the slanting rays beat pitilessly into
their faces and their aching eyes were dazzled by the burning glow.
Then Grenfell sat down rather frequently.

"We're going northwest," said Weston once, while they waited for him.
"You said that was how you headed the day before you struck the lake."

"Yes," said Grenfell, with an air of trying to recall something. "It
was summer, and at sunset the light was in our eyes. There was a very
rugged strip on the range--not unlike that one yonder. Still, I can't
be sure."

Nothing more was said. It was quite clear that Grenfell's memory was
not to be trusted, and they were in no mood for talking. They went on
a little more slowly, but Grenfell lagged again, and it was a vast
relief to all of them when the glare that