"Yonder is good water and I have tortillas and frijoles."

Unshaven and dirty, gaunt from lack of sleep, the three men dismounted
wearily and gladly turned their coffee and bacon over to the herder to
whom the mere odor of either was worth any amount of service. As they
ate, Jack and Billy quizzed the Mexican as to the topography of the
surrounding country. The little herder was a canny chap.

"He will not try to cover his trail carefully now," he said, swallowing
huge slabs of bacon. "He has a good start. You will have to fool him.
He sleeps by day and travels by night, you will see. You are working
too hard and your horses will be dead. You should have slept last
night. Now you will lose today because you must rest your horses."

Porter looked at his two companions. Jack was doing fairly well, but
the calm that DeWitt had found with Rhoda's scarf had deserted him. He
was eating scarcely anything and stared impatiently at the fire,
waiting for the start.

"I'm a blamed double-action jackass, with a peanut for a mind!"
exclaimed Porter. "Taking on myself to lead this hunt when I don't
_sabe_ frijoles! We take a sleep now."

DeWitt jumped to his feet, expostulating, but Jack and Billy laid a
hand on either of his shoulders and forced him to lie down on his
blanket. There nature claimed her own and in a short time the poor
fellow was in the slumber of exhaustion.

"Poor old chap!" said Jack as he spread his own blanket. "I can't help