There was that in Billy Porter's voice which put heart into his
listeners. John DeWitt lifted his head, and while his blue eyes
returned the gaze of the others miserably, he squared his shoulders
doggedly.

"I'm ready," he said briefly.

"Oh, let me come!" cried Katherine. "I can't bear this waiting!"

Billy smiled.

"Why, Mrs. Jack, you'd be dried up and blowed away before the first day
was over."

"But Rhoda is enduring it!" protested Katherine, with quivering lips.

"God!" John DeWitt muttered and flung himself from the house to the
corral. The other two followed him at once.

It was mid-afternoon when the three rode into the quivering yellow haze
of the desert followed by a little string of pack horses. It was now
nearing twenty-four hours since Rhoda had disappeared and in that time
there had been little sand blowing. This meant that the trail could be
easily followed were it found. The men rode single file, Billy Porter
leading. All wore blue flannel shirts and khaki trousers. John DeWitt
rode Eastern park fashion, with short stirrup, rising from the saddle
with the trot. Jack and Billy rode Western fashion, long stirrup, an
inseparable part of their horses, a fashion that John DeWitt was to be
forced to learn in the fearful days to come.