never to be heard of again. Belding had told him of that most
terrible of all desert trails--a trail of shifting sands. Lash had
traversed it, and brought back stories of buried waterholes, of bones
bleaching white in the sun, of gold mines as lost as were the
prospectors who had sought them, of the merciless Yaqui and his hatred
for the Mexican. Gale thought of this trail and the men who had camped
along it. For many there had been one night, one campfire that had
been the last. This idea seemed to creep in out of the darkness, the
loneliness, the silence, and to find a place in Gale's mind, so that it
had strange fascination for him. He knew now as he had never dreamed
before how men drifted into the desert, leaving behind graves, wrecked
homes, ruined lives, lost wives and sweethearts. And for every
wanderer every campfire had a phantom face. Gale measured the agony of
these men at their last campfire by the joy and promise he traced in
the ruddy heart of his own.

By and by Gale remembered what he was waiting for; and, getting up, he
took the halter and went out to find Blanco Sol. It was pitch-dark
now, and Gale could not see a rod ahead. He felt his way, and
presently as he rounded a mesquite he saw Sol's white shape outlined
against the blackness. The horse jumped and wheeled, ready to run. It
was doubtful if any one unknown to Sol could ever have caught him.
Gale's low call reassured him, and he went on grazing. Gale haltered
him in the likeliest patch of grass and returned to his camp. There he
lifted his saddle into a protected spot under a low wall of the mound,
and, laying one blanket on the sand, he covered himself with the other
and stretched himself for the night.

Here he was out of reach of the wind; but he heard its melancholy moan
in the mesquite. There was no other sound. The coyotes had ceased
their hungry cries. Gale dropped to sleep, and slept soundly during
the first half of the night; and after that he seemed always to be
partially awake, aware of increasing cold and damp. The dark mantle
turned gray, and then daylight came quickly. The morning was clear and
nipping cold. He threw off the wet blanket and got up cramped and half
frozen. A little brisk action was all that was necessary to warm his
blood and loosen his muscles, and then he was fresh, tingling, eager.
The sun rose in a golden blaze, and the descending valley took on
wondrous changing hues. Then he fetched up Bl