my stomach. At breakfast I had to force down my coffee. They are still
in place, but now there are two on each side, two in the front, two in
the rear. The killing of the Little One seems to have heartened us all
wonderfully. I am sure we will get out--somehow. But oh! the suspense of
it.

"Monday morning, nine-thirty.--Under way for over two hours. There is no
new development. But Idaho has just said that they seem to be edging in.
We hope to reach water to-day. Our supply is low, and the ponies are
beginning to hang their heads. It promises to be a blazing hot day.
There is alkali all to the west of us, and we just commence to see the
rise of ground miles to the southward that Idaho says is the San Jacinto
Mountains. Plenty of water there. The desert hereabout is vast and
lonesome beyond words; leagues of sparse sage-brush, leagues of
leper-white alkali, leagues of baking gray sand, empty, heat-ridden, the
abomination of desolation; and always--in whichever direction I turn my
eyes--always, in the midst of this pale-yellow blur, a single figure in
the distance, blanketed, watchful, solitary, standing out sharp and
distinct against the background of sage and sand.

"Monday, about eleven o'clock.--No change. The heat is appalling. There
is just a----

"Later.--I was on the point of saying that there was just a mouthful of
water left for each of us in our canteens when Estorijo and Idaho both
at the same time cried out that they were moving in. It is true. They
are within rifle range, but do not fire. We, as well, have decided to
reserve our fire until something more positive happens.

"Noon.--The first shot--for to-day--from the Red One. We are halted. The