then because of his
aches. Up a steep slope made heavy with loose sand that dragged at his
feet; over the crest and down the other side among rocks and gravel that
made harder walking than the sand. Up another steep slope: it was
heartbreaking, unending as the toils of a nightmare, but Casey kept on. He
was not worried over his own plight; not yet. He believed that William and
his burros were somewhere ahead of him, since they could not cling to a
bush as he had done and so resist the impetus of that terrific wind. There
was a car standing on the ridge toward which he was laboriously making his
way. It did not occur to Casey that morning might show him a rather
desperate plight.

Yet the morning did just that. Hours before dawn the light had disappeared
abruptly, but Casey had no uneasiness over that. It was foolish for them
to run down their battery burning lights when they were standing still, he
thought. They had not moved off, and he had well in mind the contour of
the ridge where they were standing. He would have bet good money that he
could walk straight to the car even though darkness hid it from him until
he came within hailing distance.

But daylight found him still below the higher slope of the ridge, and
Casey was very tired. He had been walking all day, remember, and he had
missed his supper because he wanted to eat it with the lake behind him. He
did not walk in a straight line. He was too near exhaustion to forge ahead
as was his custom. Now he was picking his way carefully so as to shun the
washes out of which he must climb, and the rock patches where he would
stumble, and the thick brush that would claw at him. He would have given
five dollars for a drink of water, but there would be water at the car, he
told himself. People were rather particular about carrying plenty of water
when they traveled these wastes.

And then he was on the ridge, and his keen eyes were squinted half-shut
while he gazed here and there, no foot of exposed land surface escaping
that unwinking stare. He took off his hat and wiped his face, and reached
mechanically for a chew of tobacco which he always took when perplexed, as
if it stimulated thought.

There was no car. There was no road. There was not even a burro trail
along that ridge. Yet there had been the lights of a car, and after the
lights had been extinguished Casey had listened rather anxiously for
sound of the motor and had heard nothing at all. The most powerful,
s