"And you say the Colorado river is forty miles due south."

"Well, between forty and fifty."

"Much obliged for the information, I'm sure."

He straightened suddenly and drew back his arm. The Desert Rat saw that
he was about to hurl a large smooth stone, and simultaneously he dodged
and reached for his gun. But he was a fifth of a second too slow. The
stone struck him on the side of the head, rather high up, and he
collapsed into a bloody heap.

On the instant the footsore man from Boston developed an alacrity and
definiteness of purpose that would have surprised the Desert Rat, had
he been in condition to observe it. He seized the gad which the mozo
had dropped, climbed upon the lightest laden burro and, driving the
others before him, set off for Chuckwalla Tanks. The Indian had
disappeared by this time, and there was little danger of overtaking
him; so with the two low hills as his objective point, the Easterner
circled a mile out of the direct course which he knew the Indian would
take, and when the dawn commenced to show in the east he herded the
pack-animals down into a swale between two sand-dunes. With remarkable
cunning he decided to scout the territory before proceeding further;
hence, as soon as there was light enough to permit of a good view, he
climbed to the crest of a high dune and looked out over the desert. As
far as he could see no living thing moved; so he drove the pack train
out of the swale and headed for the gorge between the hills. The
thirsty burros broke into a run, hee-hawing with joy as they sniffed
the water, and within a few minutes man and beasts were drinking in
common at Chuckwalla Tanks.