es to death. But if you feed 'em a
little every day they'll drift back to the ridges at night and pick up
a little more. I'm sorry for them lily-white hands of yourn, pardner,
but which place would you like to work at?"

"Hidden Water," replied Hardy, promptly, "and I bet I can cut as many
trees as you can."

"I'll go you, for a fiver," exclaimed Creede, emulously. "Next time
Rafael comes in tell him to bring me up some more grub and baled hay,
and I'm fixed. And say, when you write to the boss you can tell her
I've traded my gun for an axe!"

As Hardy turned back towards home he swung in a great circle and rode
down the dry bed of the Alamo, where water-worn bowlders and ricks of
mountain drift lay strewn for miles to mark the vanished stream. What
a power it had been in its might, floating sycamores and ironwoods as
if they were reeds, lapping high against the granite walls, moving the
very rocks in its bed until they ground together! But now the sand lay
dry and powdery, the willows and water-moodies were dead to the roots,
and even the ancient cottonwoods from which it derived its name were
dying inch by inch. A hundred years they had stood there, defying
storm and cloudburst, but at last the drought was sucking away their
life. On the mesa the waxy greasewood was still verdant, the gorged
_sahuaros_ stood like great tanks, skin-tight with bitter juice, and
all the desert trees were tipped with green; but the children of the
river were dying for a drink.

A string of cattle coming in from The Rolls stopped and stared at the
solitary horseman, head up against the sky; then as he rode on they
fell in behind him, travelling the deep-worn trail that led to Hidden
Water. At the cleft-gate of the pass, still following the hard-stamped
trail, Hardy turned aside from his course and entered, curious to see
his garden again before it succumbed to the drought. There before him
stood the sycamores, as green and flourishing as ever; the eagle
soared out from his cliff; the bees zooned in their caves; and beyond
the massive dyke that barred the way the tops of the elders waved the
last of their creamy blossoms. In the deep pool the fish still darted
about, and the waterfall that fed it was not diminished. The tinkle of
its music seemed even louder, and as Hardy looked below he saw that a
little stream led way from the pool, flowing in the trench where the
cattle came to drink. It was a miracle, springing from the bosom of
th