y tried to eat, and seemed to be grinding only sand between their
teeth. They lost the count of time. They dared not sleep, for that
would have meant being buried alive. The could only crouch close to the
leaning rock, shake off the sand, blindly dig out their packs, and
every moment gasp and cough and choke to fight suffocation.

The storm finally blew itself out. It left the prospectors heavy and
stupid for want of sleep. Their burros had wandered away, or had been
buried in the sand. Far as eye could reach the desert had marvelously
changed; it was now a rippling sea of sand dunes. Away to the north
rose the peak that was their only guiding mark. They headed toward it,
carrying a shovel and part of their packs.

At noon the peak vanished in the shimmering glare of the desert. The
prospectors pushed on, guided by the sun. In every wash they tried for
water. With the forked peach branch in his hands Warren always
succeeded in locating water. They dug, but it lay too deep. At
length, spent and sore, they fell and slept through that night and part
of the next day. Then they succeeded in getting water, and quenched
their thirst, and filled the canteens, and cooked a meal.

The burning day found them in an interminably wide plain, where there
was no shelter from the fierce sun. The men were exceedingly careful
with their water, though there was absolute necessity of drinking a
little every hour. Late in the afternoon they came to a canyon that
they believed was the lower end of the one in which they had last found
water. For hours they traveled toward its head, and, long after night
had set, found what they sought. Yielding to exhaustion, they slept,
and next day were loath to leave the waterhole. Cool night spurred
them on with canteens full and renewed strength.

Morning told Cameron that they had turned back miles into the desert,
and it was desert new to him. The red sun, the increasing heat, and
especially the variety and large size of the cactus plants warned
Cameron that he had descended to a lower level. Mountain peaks loomed
on all sides, some near, others distant; and one, a blue spur,
splitting the glaring sky far to the north, Cameron thought he
recognized as a landmark. The ascent toward it was heartbreaking, not
in steepness, but in its league-and-league-long monotonous rise.
Cameron knew there was only one hope--to make the water hold out and
never stop to rest. Warren began to weaken. Oft