parched weeds as they passed; with the burros shuffling single
file along the dim trail which was the short cut through the
hills to the Bend, Ed taking the lead, with the camp kitchen
wabbling lumpily on his back, Cora bringing up the rear with her
skinny colt trying its best to keep up, and with no pack at all;
so they started on the long, long journey to the green country.

A silent journey it was for the most part. The moon and the
starry bowl of sky had laid their spell upon the desert, and the
two men rode wordlessly, filled with vague, unreasoning regret
that they must go. Months they had spent with the desert,
learning well every little varying mood; cursing it for its
blistering heat and its sand storms and its parched thirst and
its utter, blank loneliness. Loving it too, without ever dreaming
that they loved. To-morrow they would face the future with the
past dropping farther and farther behind. To-night it rode with
them.

Three months in that little, rough-walled hut had lent it an
atmosphere of home, which a man instinctively responds to with a
certain clinging affection, however crude may be the shelter he
calls his own. Cash secretly regretted the thirsty death of his
radishes and lettuce which he had planted and tended with such
optimistic care. Bud wondered if Daddy might not stray half-
starved into the shack, and find them gone. While they were
there, he had agreed with Cash that the dog must be dead. But now
he felt uneasily doubtful It would be fierce if Daddy did come
beck now. He would starve. He never could make the trip to the
Bend alone, even if he could track them.