suffocation, and insanity.

No wonder the three scowled at Hal Sinclair when he drew his revolver.

"My horse is gun-shy," he said, "but I'll bet the rest of you I can
drill a horn off that skull before you do."

Of course it was a foolish challenge. Lowrie was the gun expert of the
party. Indeed he had reached that dangerous point of efficiency with
firearms where a man is apt to reach for his gun to decide an argument.
Now Lowrie followed the direction of Sinclair's gesture. It was the
skull of a steer, with enormous branching horns. The rest of the
skeleton was sinking into the sands.

"Don't talk fool talk," said Lowrie. "Save your wind and your
ammunition. You may need 'em for yourself, son!"

That grim suggestion made Sandersen and Quade shudder. But a grin
spread on the broad, ugly face of Lowrie, and Sinclair merely shrugged
his shoulders.

"I'll try you for a dollar."

"Nope."

"Five dollars?"

"Nope."

"You're afraid to try, Lowrie!"