d to hear George say in reply,

"There may not be any stakes there now, but there used to be. It _is_ a
terrible place, and many a wagon-train has left its bones there. It is
big enough to get lost in, for it lacks only about six thousand
square-miles of being as large as the State of New York; and although it
is not exactly a desert, as we understand the word, it is a barren
waste, where nothing living permanently resides on account of the great
scarcity of water. A long time ago the Mexican traders marked out a
route with stakes across the plain where they found a few small
fountains, and that was what gave it the name it bears. Zeke says it is
a perfect bake-oven. There are no trees to shelter you, no grass for
your horses, no fuel to build a fire with, and an almost unearthly
silence broods over it. I am not superstitious, but Zeke always speaks
of it with a shudder, and I tell you I don't want to see any place that
he is afraid of."

The two friends continued to talk in this way until Captain Clinton's
cook came up and told George that dinner was ready. They rested half an
hour after the meal was over, and then set out again, Mountain Mose
leading the way and Mr. Wentworth, as before, riding by himself. As
George was a sort of supernumerary, he was under little restraint, and
consequently he rode where he pleased--sometimes in company with the
scout, sometimes beside Captain Clinton, and then fell back to exchange
a few ideas with Bob. He did not, however, waste much time with the
scout. The latter was talkative enough until he learned that George held
the same position that he did, and then he froze up at once.

"You're a pretty-looking scout, _you_ be!" he exclaimed, moving his eye
over the boy's trim figure. "Do you reckon you could tell the trail of a
Kiowa from the track of a coyote?"

"Yes, I reckon I could," answered George with a smile. "But you need not
be jealous of me, for I shall not interfere with you in any way. I came
to the post to hunt Greasers, and not to trail Indians."

"Oh, you did, eh? So you're the chap that's goin' to show the boys the
way acrost the Rio, be you?"

"I am," replied George.

"Well, all I've got to say is, that them that follers you is fools. I
thought mebbe you was agoin' to poke your nose into my business; and
that is something I won't put up with from nobody. If thar's anything I
_do_ understand, it's Indians."

This was true, but it sometimes happens that luck is n