Shortly the four were riding northward across the desert. They were in
fairly good shape for a hard tide. Two days before, they had stopped
at Squaw Spring ranch and re-outfitted. With proper care of the horses
they were good for three weeks away from supplies. And for two weeks
now they scoured the desert, meeting scarcely a human, finding none of
the traces that Rhoda was so painfully dropping along her course. The
hugeness, the cruelty of the region drove the hopelessness of their
mission more and more deeply into DeWitt's brain. It seemed impossible
except by the merest chance to find trace of another human in a waste
so vast. It seemed to him that it was not skill but the gambler's
instinct for luck that guided Carlos and Billy.

They rode through open desert country one afternoon, the only mountains
discernible being a far purple haze along the horizon. For hours the
little cavalcade had moved without speech. Then to the north, Porter
discerned a dot moving toward them. Gradually under their eager eyes
the dot grew into a man who staggered as he walked. When he observed
the horsemen coming toward him he sat down and waited.

"Jim Provenso! By the limping Piper!" cried Billy. "Thought you was
in Silver City."

Jim was beyond useless speech. He caught the canteen which Jack swung
to him and drank deeply. Then he said hoarsely:

"I almost got away with the Tuttle girl last week!"

Every man left his saddle as if at a word of command. Jim took another
drink.