THE BOOMERANG

THE BOOMERANG

WHEN darkness settled a figure began to follow Patton—a tall, ungainly, heavy-shouldered figure. It shadowed him down the single street of the desert town to the depot, where he bought two tickets and checked two beribboned trunks; it lurked at his heels when he went back along the dirt sidewalk to Conley’s restaurant, the largest of the score of unpainted pine shacks that made up Searles. The restaurant faced the single track of the railroad line, and as Patton ate his supper, the figure stood on the ties, quiet and watchful. When Patton left the restaurant for the barber-shop farther along the street, it moved parallel with him, and took up its station outside a front window of the place.

Patton entered the shop hurriedly and dropped into the only chair. He was a man of, perhaps, forty, with black hair that was brushed away slickly from a narrow forehead, and black eyes set deep and near together. His nose was long and sharply pointed. His mouth was too full for his lean jaws, which gave his cheeks the appearance of being constantly sucked in. But he was far from ill-looking. And when he got out of the barber’s chair presently, fresh-shaven, there was a healthy glow to his dark skin under its trace of powder.

He arranged a spotless collar and a fresh tie,settled his soft hat on his carefully combed hair, adjusted his coat before a mirror, and went out. The figure moved with him, going toward the depot once more. A building beyond the station was brightly lighted. Patton made toward it, walking fast and whistling. The figure walked faster than he—until it was almost at his heels.

“Patton!”

Patton halted. “Hello,” he returned cheerily. “Who is it?”

The figure halted. “It’s Jeff Blandy,” was the answer.

“Oh.” The tone showed displeasure. Patton backed away a step. “Well, what can I do for you?”

Blandy did not reply at once. Then, “You can’t do nothin’ forme,” he said. “I just want to say a word or two about—Polly Baker.”

“Yes?” inquired Patton impatiently. “Well, hurry up. The ceremony’s at nine-thirty. The west-bound goes through at eleven.”

Again there was a short silence. When Blandy went on, his voice was lowered. “She ain’t got no paw nor maw, nor no brother. That’s whyI’ma-speakin’ to you.”

“I’ll look after her,” said Patton coldly.

“I’d like to feel right shore of that. You see, she and me has been good friends for a long while. And I want to ask you, Patton, to play fair with her, and——”

“Say! look here!” broke in the other man. “You’re putting your lip into something that’s none of your business.”

“Do y’thinkso?” retorted Blandy with sudden spirit. “Wal, out here in the West, a man’s likely to find hull crowds that’ll make it their business if he can’t see his way to treatin’ a woman white.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Patton.

“Just this: I happen to know about that Galindo business at Paicines. There’soneplace you didn’t act on the square. Wal, the Galindo girl’s a greaser, and her men folks oughta took better care of her. We won’t say nothin’ more about it, Patton. But don’t forgit this: A feller owes his wife somethin’ more’n just the weddin’ ceremony.”

“Oh, I see,” sneered Patton. “You’re trying to kick up a rumpus. You wanted Polly yourself.”

Blandy gave a short laugh. “Me?” he said. “Me?Why, you’re crazy! All I’ve got to keep a wife on is my prospectin’ outfit and a’ old mangy mule. Me! Huh! No girl’d look at me—no fine, pretty girl that’s had lots of chances. I ain’t nothin’ but a slob.”

To that, Patton made no comment.

“No, you’re the kind of a man that a girl likes,” Blandy went on. “And you git a couple of hunderd from the East every month. You can take her away from this hole and make her nice and comfortable in Los Angeles, and give her a hired girl to wait on her, and decent clothes. Wal, that’s fine. But a’ easy time and good clothes don’t amount to a hill of beans with a woman if she ain’t happy. So—play fair with her, Patton. In the long run, it pays to do what’s right. You know that. Nine times outen ten, when a man picks up a club to take a’ underhanded shy at another person, Mister Stickcomes whizzin’ right back and gives him a crack in the head like one of them——”

“That’ll do, Blandy,” interrupted Patton. His voice was hoarse with anger. “I haven’t any more time for your damned gossip.” He turned abruptly and strode away.

Blandy stayed where he was, his heavy shoulders stooped, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his weight shifted to one foot. He saw a door of the near-by house open wide to admit Patton; heard a chorus of gay voices greet the other man, and following a short wait, heard the tones of an organ, playing a march. He waited until the organ ceased; then, head lowered, and hat pulled down to his brows, he walked away slowly, going to the depot.

He halted in the shadow of the station and stayed there until the head-light of the west-bound train shone in the distance like a fallen star. The star grew. And through the night air came the thin shriek of the nearing engine. It was then that a laughing, chattering group left the brightly-lighted house and came hurrying toward the depot. Blandy turned from the approaching light.

The centre of the group was the bride, a slender girl in a white dress. As she stepped upon the platform, under the station lamps, Blandy leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her face. Her childish eyes, long-lashed and the blue of lapis lazuli, were bright with happiness, her cheeks an excited pink.

She saw the tall figure standing half in and half out of the shadow, and ran to him. “Jeff,” shebegan reprovingly, “you didn’t come to the wedding!”

He took her outstretched hand. “No,” he agreed; “no, I—I didn’t, but——” He paused awkwardly.

“I missed you, Jeff,” she declared. “Why, I wanted you there more than anybody else. And I wanted to wait till someone could go for you. But nobody’d seen you, and they didn’t know where you were—What was the matter, Jeff?”

“I—I had business to attend to,” he explained.

“Business! And you my best, best friend——”

The train was close. Voices began to summon her back to the wedding-party.

Blandy leaned down to her. “Dear little Polly,” he said huskily, “your old side-pardner wishes you all the luck that’s in the world.”

Then she was gone again. She smiled back at him from the steps of the car, and answered the chorus of farewells that was shouted up to her. The engine-bell clanged, the train moved. Patton sprang to the girl’s side amid a shower of rice. There was more shouting, which was answered from the car platform, and the west-bound pulled out, the green lights on the rear of the last coach glowing like the eyes of a serpent.

Blandy lifted a hand to his breast, then to his throat, then to his eyes. The group of wedding guests gone, and the depot platform dark, he crossed the railroad track, walking a little uncertainly. Out in the blackness, among the sage-brush, something was moving about—an animal. He went up to it, untied a rope, spoke a word of command, andstarted off northward—away from the town into the desert.

Jeff Blandy, staggering across the last mile of his journey, directed his way over the railroad track to Conley’s restaurant. The dust of many days and nights was upon him, powdering hair and clothes to the colour of his grey hat. The weariness of trudging over yielding and uneven ground was in his long legs and in the stoop of his shoulders. And the leathern sallow of his face wore a fresh gloss of vivid red that was like the reflection of a torch-flame. Yet in his eyes—as brown and big and appealingly honest as the eyes of a great, friendly dog—was a gleam that neither the sand-laden winds nor the scorching sun had dulled. And there was a smile lurking among the long bristles at the corners of his wide mouth.

Entering the restaurant, he found it unchanged, though a year had passed since he had left Searles. There were the two oilcloth-covered tables that reached from end to end of the room, and the counter, with its cash-register. But no one was on hand to take his order. Stiffly, he let himself down upon a chair at one end of the first table. Then, leaning back and dropping his hat to the floor at his side, he picked up a knife and rang a sharp summons on the rim of an empty glass.

The door into the kitchen swung open to admit a young man in shirt-sleeves and soiled apron,—a short, thick-set young man with the curly flaxen hair, full blue eyes and apple-red cheeks of a boy doll. He was carrying a pitcher of water.

Blandy drained his glass before he gave the other a nod. Then, “Gimme some ham and eggs and fried potatoes,” he began. “A steak, if you got it, too. And coffee. And some pie. And fruit——”

“Oranges is the only fruit,” interrupted the waiter.

“Orange’ll do. And could the cook mix me some flap-jacks?”

“I guess.”

“Then that’ll be all.”

The young man in shirt-sleeves went out, kicking the swinging door open before him and shouting his order. Left alone, Blandy helped himself to a second glass of water, after which he stretched his legs far under the table, folded his arms upon his breast, and took a deep breath. Then, as he waited, the smile at the corners of his mouth began slowly to spread, until his burned cheeks were wrinkled with it, and his moistened lips were parted to show a double line of strong white teeth. Thus he sat, all a-grin, dreaming.

Beyond the swinging doors, dishes were clattering, and there was a sound of sputtering and frying. The voice of the waiter rose and fell, too, amid the din of crockery and cooking; and mingled with his voice, now and then, was the voice of a woman. Presently, the tempting smell of ham was wafted out into the dining-room. It was then that Blandy drew in his feet and sat erect, turning his eyes kitchen-ward.

Soon the waiter appeared. Pyramided upon his towel-draped left arm were numerous plates and platters, topped by a huge cup of inky coffee thatsteamed as it washed gently from side to side with every sway of the arm. As the order was placed upon the table, together with some cutlery, which the waiter scattered with his right hand, Blandy picked up a knife and fork, pulled a platter into place before him, and began to eat, ravenously. Someone—a man—entered the front door and took a seat behind the cash-register. Blandy did not look up. One by one the platters and plates were emptied. At last, refreshed and satisfied, Blandy picked up an orange and began to peel it leisurely.

It was now that for the first time he chanced to look across at the man behind the counter. That glance brought him to his feet, the half-peeled orange in his hand. “Harvey Patton!” he exclaimed in amazement.

“How are you?” answered Patton, indifferently. The tip of his nose moved up and down a little as he spoke.

Blandy strode toward the counter. “What under the shinin’ sun are you doin’ back inSearles?” he demanded.

“Keeping restaurant.”

The other was silent for a moment, his astonished eyes still fixed upon Patton. Then, “Where’s—Polly?” he asked.

Patton jerked his head sidewise toward the kitchen. “She’s doing the cooking,” he explained, smiling.

Blandy’s staring eyes narrowed. He turned abruptly, crossed the room to the swinging door and struck it out of the way before him.

Just within the kitchen, he halted. It was a small room, reeking with smells, and suffocatingly hot.On the side farthest from Blandy was a sink. And bending over the sink, with her back to him, was a girl. As he looked at her, the red on his face slowly deepened, as if he were holding his breath. After a while, his glance travelled to the stove, upon which some pots were steaming; to the long kitchen table piled high with unwashed dishes; to the heaping oil can of scraps at the foot of the table; to the floor, spattered and unswept. When at last his look went back to the girl, the hairy skin at either side of his mouth was twitching with the effort of self-control.

“Polly!”

She turned. The perspiration was streaming from forehead and temples, so that her face and throat glistened, as her arms were glistening with the water that was streaming from elbows to finger-ends. Her face was more scarlet than his own. Out of that scarlet looked her eyes, which were shadowed by wide, dark circles.

“Why—why, Jeff!”

He shook his head, slowly and sadly. “And so you married to come tothis,” he said in a low voice.

There was a bench beside the sink. She sank to it, as if too weary to keep her feet. As she sat there, leaning on a hand, he saw her, not as she was before him, tired and blowzy and wet with sweat, but as he had seen her last. He took a step toward her. “How does it come that you and Patton’re keepin’ a’ eatin’-house?” he asked.

“We—we got short of money,” she answered falteringly. “Harvey wouldn’t work in Los Angeles where he’s acquainted. He’s so proud. So we cameback here. And—and this was all we could see to do.”

“We,” repeated Blandy.

“Well,” she answered. “Well——”

“How about that two hunderd he used to git every month from the East?” He watched her keenly.

“Never comes any more,” she declared.

“That’s too bad. Makin’ any money with the rest’rant?”

“I—I don’t know. Mr. Conley didn’t whenhehad it. But then he had to pay his cook.”

“Huh!” commented Blandy, between his teeth, and fell silent again. “This work’s too hard for you,” he said finally, when he could trust himself to speak. “You’ll drop in your tracks. Why, I could pick you up in my two hands like a rag and wring you.”

Her lips trembled. But she kept her face raised to his. “Oh, I don’t mind a little work,” she declared.

The flaxen-haired waiter entered the kitchen by the rear door. Blandy turned and went out through the other one. There was a gleam in the dog-like eyes once more, but it was not a gleam that was good to see.

Patton was still seated behind the cash-register. He smiled at Blandy again, and gave another sidewise jerk of his smooth head toward the kitchen. “It’s a pretty complete plant, isn’t it?” he questioned boastfully.

Blandy made no reply, only reached a big,freckled hand into a pocket, brought forth two silver dollars, and tossed them ringing upon the counter. Then he picked up his hat and went out.

But just in front of the entrance, he halted. Before him, across the wide, dusty street and the shining rails of the track, lay the level desert. It was mid-afternoon. And the grey wastes were swept by waves of heat that sank and rose unceasingly, now almost as plain to the eye as flames would have been, now shadowy. Blandy measured every blistering mile, from the rough, unroofed porch on which he stood to the distant horizon, where a mountain range traced an uneven line upon the misty blue of the sky. And as he stood, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his shoulders lowered, his head sunk between them, he was the very figure of indecision.

Finally, he straightened, turned about, opened the restaurant door and re-entered. Patton was smoking, a long cigar in one corner of his mouth, and tilted upward; one knee crossed upon the other.

Blandy walked to the counter. “Patton,” he began, “thisain’t no kind of a business foryou. You won’t make yoursalthere in Searles. Now, I’ve got a proposition to make you—youandPolly. But it mustn’t go no further.” He gave a quick glance about him.

“I’m not dying to stay in Searles,” observed Patton, blowing smoke.

“Wal,”—Blandy dropped his voice—“you go into pardnership with me, Patton, and you don’thaveto stay.”

The other took out his cigar and eyed Blandyhalf-suspiciously. “You’ve changed some,” he commented. “You didn’t used to care much about me. But—what’s your proposition?”

The gleam of triumph came back into Blandy’s eyes. “I’ve made a strike,” he said.

“Amine?”

Now, Blandy straightened, shoulders back, head up, face all a-grin once more. “That’s what,” he declared proudly.

Patton slipped down from his stool. “Where?” he asked excitedly.

Blandy lifted a long arm to point out through the front window toward the north. “Four days from here,” he answered.

“When’ll we go?” questioned the other. He reached across to lay a hand on Blandy’s sleeve. “We’ve got to locate, you know. That’s the law. We mustn’t miss a trick, old man.”

“Oh, I located, all right,” declared Blandy. He drew back a step.

“But you didn’t locate forme,” went on Patton. “SoI’ve got to go out, haven’t I? And there’s another reason, too. You’re the only person that knows just where the lead is. Well, suppose anything were to happen to you—a railroad accident, or a bad sickness. Where wouldIbe? That’s the way all the lost mines’ve come about, Blandy.”

“We’ll talk it over to-night. Then Polly can hear about it, too. There’s enough for the three of us out there,—and some over. So she can have a claim separate.”

“Oh, I’ll look after her,” said Patton carelessly.

“No.” There was determination in Blandy’stone. “I’m lettin’ you in on this with the understandin’ that she hasherholdin’. She can lease it, or she can work it, just whichever she likes. You know, it’s kinda stylish for a lady to have her own bank-book.”

“All right,” agreed Patton impatiently.

It was close upon four then. Patton was for calling his wife in and breaking the news at once. “And we’ll close up and cut out supper,” he declared, “and have a little celebration.”

But Blandy flatly objected. “Don’t shut down just a’ hour or two before a meal,” he advised. “Put a sign on the front door to-night. Say on it that the rest’rant is closed ’cause your wife is plumb wored out. We can’t afford to give ourselves away, Patton. There’s plenty of men in Searles that can smell a strike forty mile. Look out or some of ’em ’ll be follerin’ us.”

“You’re right,” declared Patton.

Thus it came about that Polly cooked supper in ignorance of the sudden good fortune that was to make such further toiling unnecessary. Blandy went out into the hot kitchen a second time. But he had little to say, and devoted his efforts to the washing and drying of the dishes, which he received in pyramids from the swinging left arm of the flaxen-haired waiter; and when, shortly after seven o’clock, the last guest was gone, and the last dish clean, Blandy swept and mopped the kitchen floor.

At eight, by the light of a single candle, there was a conference of three at one of the oilcloth-covered tables in the front room. The waiter had taken himself off in the direction of the main saloon downthe street, out of which were floating the strains of a violin and the voices of singing women. Nevertheless, Blandy told his story in a half-whisper, and without pointing.

“The ledge is in a spur of the range back of Salt Basin,” he confided. “And clost to—what do you think?”

“What?” questioned Patton.

“The bowl in the rock!”

Patton turned to his wife. “That’s the spring I told you about,” he explained. “I went out there four years ago with a prospector. You wouldn’t believe, Polly, that water could be found in a place like that—a regular ash-pile, you might say. But there it is. The bowl is hollowed out as pretty as can be. And the water comes in drop by drop—just at night, though. It leaks in through a split that’s so fine you couldn’t get a knife-blade into it. But what comes in doesn’t run out, because the bowl’s good-sized, and if the buzzards don’t drink the water up, the sun does.”

Polly made no comment. She sat very still, watching Blandy steadily. Her face was as pale as it had been scarlet at mid-afternoon.

“The lead ain’t more’n a stone’s throw from the bowl,” went on Blandy; “—to the right up the slope. Say! think of the feller’s that’ve missed it!—’cause they was so all-fired glad to find water that they forgot all about gold. ButIfound it. I was comin’ down the slope, headin’ for a drink, when my darned feet got all tangled up and I took a double-ender. Wal, sir, when I sit up to feel if any bones was broke, here was the blossom rock, lookin’ mestraight in the eye!—yeller chunks, Patton, as big as pine-nuts!”

Patton’s black eyes were glistening. “How high’ll that rock run?” he asked.

“Turriblehigh—even where it don’t show colour. There was a fortune right in sight—without thinkin’ of what’s layingbehind. There’s all we’ll ever want out there—a chance to do a few things for our friends, and our relations—them that we like; and grand houses, and outomobiles, and fine clothes, and horses, and folks to wait on us, and travellin’, and edication, and—and what’ll make Polly a queen!”

“Did you put up a written notice?”

“Shore.”

“Have you got some specimens?”

“About a mile from here—buried.”

“A few samples aren’t enough,” asserted Patton. “Anybody can get hold of a dozen pieces of rich rock. Why, there are men who make a good living by selling ore that’s used to draw suckers on.”

“A-course, that’s so,” agreed Blandy.

“What we ought to have is about four barley-sackfuls. There’s nothing like making a great, big hit at the very start.”

“Yas, I know,” said Blandy. “But when one of them millionaire fellers is considerin’ a lease, he sends out a’ expert.”

“If you have a hundred pounds of quartz and an assay, there won’t be any need of an expert,” argued Patton. “We’ll lease without a bit of trouble. Of course, we might make more by taking some rich man in as a partner, and working the mine on shares——”

“Why, there’s half a million apiece in it for us without doin’that.”

“Half a million,” repeated Patton. “Huh! I mean to ask one million flat formyshare.”

Blandy laughed. “Oh, leave a little for the gent that’s a-going to put up the cash,” he advised.

Patton went on arguing. “As a matter of fact,” he declared, “it wouldn’t take us any time at all to land three hundred pounds of ore at the track if we used an auto.”

“No.” Blandy was decisive. “No, I don’t trust none of them flyshuffers.”

“ButI’ll drive.”

“Take a machine and leave tracks, eh?” demanded Blandy. “Not on your life! Burros is what we need. A burro can travel on a washout and never turn a stone.”

“All right, burros then,” assented Patton eagerly. “Let’s start to-morrow night.”

“Oh, what’s your sweat?” asked Blandy.

“Just this: The quicker we leave, the quicker we get out of Searles.”

“But—but maybe Jeff’s tired,” suggested Polly timidly.

Patton gave her a warning glance. “Iknow he’s tired,” he answered. “But we won’t have to rush. We can take it easy, and only travel at night. If we wait around here, people’re sure to begin trying to find out where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. The whole town knows you’ve been on a long prospecting trip—I heard it when I came. So (just as you said yourself a while ago) first thing you know, we’ll have a regular gang on our trail.”

Blandy nodded, more than half-convinced.

“And when we’ve got our ore,” went on Patton, “I’ll go to Los Angeles with you. I’m the man that can advise you when it comes to a lease.”

In the end Blandy agreed to an immediate trip to the mine.

But next morning it was he who set to work preparing for the journey. Patton made off down the street almost immediately after breakfast, and disappeared into one of the half-dozen drinking-places of the town. When he did not return at noontime, Blandy consulted Polly.

“Don’t you think I’d better go find him?” he asked. “You see he might take a glass or two and git to blabbin’.”

Patton was found at Rourke’s. Outside the resort, Blandy turned upon him. “Say! You’re up to your old game, ain’t you, Patton?” he demanded curtly.

Patton tried to laugh the matter off. “Oh, you don’t understand,” he declared confidentially. He started homeward beside the other man.

The leather of Blandy’s face was pale. Out of the paleness burned his wrathful eyes. “Don’t try to soft-soap me,” he went on. “I know now where that remittance of your’n goes. But you got to cut itout! I ain’t a-helpin’ you to a fortune so’s you can hurt Polly by slatherin’ money on some other woman.”

Patton gave a loud laugh. “Don’t think I’m a fool,” he answered. As they entered the front room of the restaurant, he gave Blandy a look of hate.“You aren’t giving me a claim because you likeme. You’re doing it on Polly’s account.”

“That’s right,” declared Blandy. “What in thunderation is there aboutyouthat’d make any man hand you over half a million?”

“So! You admit it! Oh, I’m on to your game! This is some more of your tattle. You want to make trouble between me and my wife!”

Blandy took a long step forward. “That’s a lie,” he said. “It’s just what Idon’taim to do. You and me had a talk on this question the night you got married. Have you forgot that? Wal, when you cash in on the claim, I’m a-goin’ to see that you cut that friend——”

The swinging door opened, and Polly came in from the kitchen. “Harv!” she faltered. “Jeff!” Then, she fell silent, watching them with troubled eyes.

Blandy’s face broke into a reassuring grin. “Say! we’re excited over nothin’,” he declared. “Don’t you worry, Polly. Patton, I hired the only two burros in town this mornin’, and bought some grub and feed.”

There were no further words between the two men, only a coldness that was barely noticeable. After the midday meal, Patton even helped with the packing. Polly, entering their bedroom hastily, found him standing on a bench looking at the labels of some bottles on the medicine-shelf.

“Be careful what you take,” she cautioned. “That bottle of mercury tablets is up there, and it’s the same size as the one that’s got stuff in it for rattlesnake bites.”

“It’s the rattlesnake medicine that I’m hunting,” answered Patton tartly.

Polly went back into the kitchen, where Blandy was busy packing the raisins, crackers and canned beef. She looked frightened. “Oh, I’m so sorry you and Harvey quarrelled,” she half-whispered. “Please,pleasedon’t have any more trouble with him.”

From the standpoint of beauty there was little to recommend Jeff Blandy save his eyes. Now, as he smiled down at her, his eyes made up for all the deficiencies of his rugged face. “We was hungry,” he declared. “That was all.”

“Jeff,” she said, “I never knew how good you were. Oh, if girls only realised that the men that keep dressed up aren’t always the best men.”

“And on the other hand,” he observed, “I’ve saw some pretty bad men in bum clothes.”

Late that night, the burros were packed, one with provisions and feed, and enough heavy sacking for a small sun shelter; the other with the large, flat-sided water canteens. When the start was made, Polly told the two men a whispered good-bye from the front porch. And as the burros were headed northward, Blandy leading one and Patton the other, she watched the little pack-train leave the town. The light of the stars, reflected on the grey of the sage and the yellow-grey of the desert floor, made the departure plain for a long distance, though only as so many moving black specks. She waited until the specks dropped from sight into a far-off swale.

Then she ran through the dining-room to her bedroom, struck a match, dragged a bench under themedicine-shelf, climbed upon it and let her light shine in turn upon each of the bottles standing in a row.

The match went out. With a murmured exclamation she got down, searched for her hat in the dark room, found it and put it on, caught up a yellow sun umbrella, and locked both entrances to the house. A moment later, she was hurrying across the street, over the track and into the desert.

She soon came up to the men and the burros, travelling silently forward. But at first she kept a little way behind, like a scared child, for she shrank from letting Patton know that she was there. Presently, however, summoning courage, she went forward to his side. “H-Harvey,” she stammered. Her face was white in the dimness.

He came short; Blandy, too. Both stared at her in wonderment.

“What do you want?” Patton demanded, resentment in his tone. “It’s too late for you to be gadding around alone.”

“Harv, I’m going with you. Walking isn’t hard work—not any harder than the work in the kitchen was. Jeff, you don’t care if I come along, do you?”

“You bet I don’t,” Blandy answered heartily. “You’ll be fine comp’ny.”

“Nonsense!” scolded Patton.

“Wal, she’s the third pardner,” reminded Blandy. “When you come to think of it, she’s got a right to look over her claim. If she gits tired, she can ride a donk. But a-course”—his tone became more serious—“there’s one thingaginyour goin’: We three is the only people that know where that strike is; if anything was to happen to the bunch of us, there’dbe a lost mine for shore.” He clucked to his burro and walked on.

His words produced a curious effect upon Patton, who stayed where he was, silently looking after Blandy until the latter was well beyond earshot.

“Harvey!” Polly’s voice was tremulous with appeal, “I don’t want to be left behind alone.”

Patton gave her a quick, sidewise glance. “All right,” he said brusquely. “You can come.”

To show that she was equal to the journey, Polly kept in the lead all the remainder of that night, flitting light-footed, like the spirit of some good guiding angel.

Shortly after dawn, Blandy called a halt and prepared for a rest of several hours. He fixed the square of sacking to the ground by two of its corners. The other two corners he fastened to mesquite stakes. The result was an improvised tent which faced the north. This shelter was for Patton and Polly. When it was ready, Blandy took the yellow umbrella, raised it, went aside to where were the canteens, and lay down.

By noon, it was impossible to sleep because of the heat, which was so intense that the grey, incrusted ground burned the hand that touched it. The travellers did not set forth at once. Seated under their shelters, they looked out upon a round lake that glimmered in a near-by hollow of the desert—a lake encircled with a beach of amethyst.

With that sheet of water glistening before him, Patton drank often and deep. And when, at four, he rose with the others to continue on, he slung one of the large canteens over a shoulder. The glimmeringlake moved as the pack-train moved, occupying one hollow, then dissolving to appear in another, and still another. Patton lifted his canteen to his lips every half mile.

Blandy noted it. “Say! You’ll have to learn to be careful about your drinkin’ if you go out much on the desert,” he warned. “More’n one tenderfoot has gone luny for water and took to follerin’ them spook lakes. Chaw on a raisin for a change.”

No halt was made for supper. The three ate as they travelled. The sun declined. The last shining sheet of water disappeared. Twilight came, and with twilight, the stars, which burned large and white in the cloudless expanse of the heavens. Through the starlight, through the late moonlight, and through the dawn of a second day, they trudged on.

It was shortly after sunrise that a giant yucca came into sight ahead. It was branched on either side; and from a distance looked like some huge figure that had been caught in action and suddenly trans-fixed.

“Hello!” cried Blandy. “My friend John Jenkins! We’re half-way.”

“Half-way?” repeated Patton. “Why, that spur doesn’t look twenty miles off.”

“It just happens that you’re a-rubberin’ in the wrong direction,” said Blandy. “The spur we’re a-goin’ to ain’t over that way: It’s off where them little, puffy clouds is. Say, you’d better never try to navigate this desert alone.”

Arrived at the yucca, Polly was glad enough topause, and before the two men had finished erecting the shelter of sacking, she had crawled under it.

“Tuckered, ain’t you?” questioned Blandy kindly. “Wal, we been makin’ fine time, that’s why. We’ll be drinkin’ outen that bowl in the rock at sun-up day after to-morrow.”

He made a cache of feed and provisions, and buried two of the large canteens; then stretched himself with his head in the shade of the yellow umbrella, and was soon snoring.

Patton did not lie down, but sat, brooding, a canteen in his hand. And, presently, after making certain that Polly’s breathing was deep and regular, he rose cautiously. Some distance away were the burros, standing with lowered heads and long ears flopped to either side. Patton stole in their direction. And when he reached the animals, set to packing one. He was soon done. With a last glance toward shelter and umbrella, he set off northward at a good gait.

The atmosphere was unusually clear. It was this that had made the mountains seem such a short distance away. Patton had carefully marked the position of the right spur. He tramped forward determinedly, though by noon the ground under his feet fairly scorched his shoes. The afternoon dragged its length in moments that seemed, each more unendurably hot than the last, and with lakes glimmering from near-by hollows, he drank at every rod. Sunset came at last, bringing a welcome coolness. Now half of his journey alone was done. He stopped to feed the burro and satisfy his own hunger, after which he hurried on.

The sun was standing high over the mountains the next day when, fagged, but triumphant, Patton began the ascent of the gentle, beach-like slope that stretched between him and the base of the spur he sought. The range that rose ahead of him showed not even a growth of stunted sage upon its ruffled side. For here the massive barrier was like a burned-out kiln, brick-red, cinder-black and ashen-grey. He skirted it for an hour or more, the donkey at a trot. Suddenly, ahead of him, a great, black bird rose from the ground with a harsh cry and an awkward flapping of its wings. Patton ran forward.

There was the bowl, as round as if it had been fashioned by deft hands, and nearly full of water. Patton had swallowed the last mouthful of his canteen supply early that morning. Now, he sank to his knees, bent his head and almost buried his face in the pool.

His thirst satisfied, he climbed the slope beyond. Ten minutes of hot toiling, and he came upon Blandy’s location-notice, scrawled on a soiled scrap of paper, and tacked to a crooked mesquite stake. He tore up the notice, and jerked the stake loose. Then, white, for all the effort of climbing, he stooped and pressed both palms against the outcropping of quartz at his feet, his fingers into its crevices. It was as if he were clutching prey.

“It’s all here!—all here!” he said aloud, huskily.

Back at the bowl once more, he filled a canteen and hung it to the pack-saddle, took another long drink himself, and let the donkey have all that remained. Then, reaching into an inside pocket of his shirt, he brought out something that was wrappedin a piece of newspaper. He unwound the paper, disclosing a small bottle, which he uncorked. And having measured the size of the bowl with his eye, he dropped three round, white tablets into it. This done, he dampened a handkerchief from the canteen and laid it, folded, upon his hair. For the long miles in the sun had told on him, and there was a feeling of heat and pressure at the top of his skull.

A few minutes later, he set off once more, due west, completely avoiding the Searles route to the southward.

When Polly awoke, the sun was already down, and twilight was settling. Fearing that she had delayed the departure, she sprang to her feet. But Blandy was still snoring. And close at hand was a saddleless burro, head lowered and fast asleep.

She began to call: “Harvey! Oh, Harv!”

The snoring ceased. The yellow umbrella toppled. Blandy’s tall figure rose. “Gosh! but ain’t I snoozed!” he exclaimed.

She called again: “Harvey! Where are you? Jeff! One of the burros is gone!”

“Oh, I guess he’s there, all right,” answered Blandy. “You know, a donk’s the same colour as the ground.”

“But heisn’tthere,” persisted Polly. “Or Harvey, either.” And as Blandy hastened by, she joined him.

When they halted, each scanned the desert. Then, “You’re right,” Blandy admitted gravely. “That blamed burro must a-strayed. I neverdidlike the little cuss. He had a bad look in one eye.”

She raised an anxious face to his. “The donkey isn’t to blame,” she declared. “Harvey’s left us.”

“No! Why? Sore about your comin’?”

“Hetoldme to come.”

Blandy strode over to the packs. And a first glimpse told him that Polly was right. Feed and provisions were missing, and all but one of the uncached canteens.

“Jeff!” Polly had followed him, and she spoke in a frightened whisper. “Don’t drink any of this water till you’ve given the donkey some.”

Blandy stared down at her. “Why not?” he asked, perplexed.

“Don’t—don’t ask me, Jeff.”

His face went grim with understanding. “I guess I understand,” he said.

The canteen that Patton had left behind him was thoroughly shaken and the donkey was given a generous drink. Then Blandy left the camp to gather mesquite roots. When he returned, a half-hour later, the little animal was resting, head swagged low. But while Blandy was watching him, the shaggy head came up and the donkey brayed—loud and long, after which he fell to yawning, ears flopped to either side lazily. Plainly the water had done him no harm.

Blandy set to work to build a fire. “You see,” he said, “Patton might change his mind about leavin’ us.”

By now, twilight had merged into night. On every side stretched the desert, as level, dark and melancholy as a sea. The mountain range to the northward, with its charred front one great inkyshadow, was a dead island, rising out of a black waste of water. Blandy lighted the beacon, and it flamed up like the signal of someone shipwrecked.

They kept the fire burning steadily. They listened for far-off cries. But they heard no cries, only constant movements in the blackness about the camp. Heretofore, the desert had withheld nearly all evidence of animate things. Now, sitting and waiting, they caught the softpad, padof dog-like feet, the flutter of small wings.

At dawn, Blandy set off on a hunt for tracks. He first circled the camp. The only outgoing trail he found ended near by in the dry bed of a stream. He followed the stream-bed toward Searles. When he had gone several miles, he retraced his steps and passed the camp on his way toward the mountains.

It was late afternoon when he returned, tired out. But he came into sight waving his hat cheerily. “It’s all right,” he announced. “He went toward the mine.”

While they were preparing to break camp and follow Patton, Polly saw that Blandy was digging up one of the two canteens he had cached.

“On the way home, Jeff, can we make it from here to Searles on one?” she asked.

“Easy.”

“And from the mine to here, Jeff?”

“We’ll ketch a canteenful where it drips into that bowl in the rock.”

When they started forward, they were compelled to go slowly, not only because of Blandy’s weariness, but because Polly was foot-sore, though at first she strove to conceal the fact by keeping in the rear.At the end of five or six miles, however, she found herself unable to go farther.

“Oh, I thought I’d be all right after so much rest,” she declared, out of patience with her own weakness.

Blandy was all gentle consideration. “I don’t wonder your feet hurt you,” he answered. “You ain’t used to so much walkin’. Now, just you wait.”

Off came pack-saddle, load and all. Then the saddle-blanket was replaced, with the shelter sacking on top of it, folded to make a comfortable seat. And soon Polly was mounted on the donkey. Behind her, balanced carefully, were two large canteens, a flour sack of provisions, and feed for the burro. She held the yellow umbrella over her head.

They travelled until darkness made it impossible to follow Patton’s tracks, when camp was made again.

“But if Harvey went straight to the mine,” argued Polly, “What’s the use of trailing him? Why not just go ahead?”

“For the reason that yesterday Patton had the mine located thirty mile left of where it is. S’pose he was to git the same idear again?”

Once more Blandy hunted mesquite roots. And far into the night his signal-fire lit the swells and hollows of the desert.

At break of day they took up their journey once more, with Polly riding again, and drowsing now and then as the donkey picked his way along.

It was the middle of the morning when a low cry from Blandy suddenly startled her into wakefulness.He had come short, halting the donkey, and was examining the ground.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Here’s a man’s tracks and a burro’s, crossin’ this trail at right angles, and goin’ west. They’re fresher’n the ones we been follerin’.”

“Harvey’s?”

“Shore.”

“What’ll we do, Jeff?”

“Strike out after him. He’s makin’ for that wrong spur!”

They turned aside, and started off in the new direction.

During the remainder of the morning, they were headed almost due west. But at noon Patton’s footprints led him toward the north-west, then toward the north—directly away from Searles.

Shortly after noon, they made an alarming discovery. It was Patton’s donkey, stretched lifeless on the baked ground. Away from the carcass a grey wolf-form raced, and was lost in the grey of sand and sage.

“Short of water,” said Blandy, and shook his head.

Polly covered her eyes. “Oh, poor little thing!” she whispered. “Jeff, give mine a good drink.”

He came to stand beside her. “Polly,” he said, “I can’t. And if we’re goin’ to keep follerin’ this trail and locate Patton, this little animal”—he laid a hand on the donkey’s neck—“has got to go.”

“Areweshort of water?”

“There’s a good deal left. But I ain’t give the donkey a swaller since yesterday noon. We got to be savin’. It’s likely that Patton’ll need water bad.”

Soon the tracks they were following turned due east.

“He run outen water,” Blandy explained gravely. “He’s headed back to the bowl.”

But when they, too, turned about to start back, their burro abruptly stopped, and refused to be coaxed or urged forward.

“Yas, git down,” said Blandy as Polly prepared to dismount. “And go on for about a quarter of a mile. I’ll bring the things.”

She obeyed, fairly running to escape the sound of the dreaded pistol-shot. When he came trudging up to her, carrying a canteen and the provisions sack, she was seated in a heap, her face hid in her hands.

“There! There!” he said consolingly. “Wehadto leave him.”

They hurried forward as fast as they were able, Blandy compelling Polly to take a swallow of water every little while, but drinking none himself. Before long Patton’s trail was giving them much concern. It veered to the right for a few rods, then it veered to the left, winding crazily.

“’Fraid he was just a little off his head,” said Blandy. “Nothin’ to worry about, though. We’ll find him.”

But their concern steadily increased as they travelled. For by late afternoon, with the bowl still at some distance, they found no more footprints to follow—only two winding marks. Patton was dragging himself forward on his knees!

They came upon his hat next. An hour later, the sun glittered on something a short way in advance.It was a canteen. Its woolen covering had been torn from it in ragged bits that strewed the ground. And about the round opening were the marks of teeth.

“Hurry!” breathed Blandy.

After that, neither one spoke, but stumbled on, Blandy half-supporting Polly, both watching eagerly for a moving speck in the narrowing stretch between them and the base of the spur ahead.

At sundown, they neared the bowl. Blandy began to call: “Patton! Oh,Patton! Are you there?”

A few steps farther, he came short, putting out an arm to stop Polly.

For Patton was there, stretched flat upon his back, his arms thrown wide to either side. And beside him, with its black wings outspread, lay a great bird, claws up and feathers ruffled.

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