afternoon. Toward night we passed another station, called
Georgia, and the man in charge allowed us to fill our kegs from
the water-tank.

[Illustration: First Night Camp in the Sand Hills]

We went on three or four miles and stopped beside the trail, and a
hundred yards from the railroad, for the night. The great drifts of
sand were all around us, and no desert could have been lonelier.
We had a little wood and built a camp-fire. The evening was still
and there was not a sound. Even the Blacksmith's Pet, wandering
about seeking what he could devour, and finding nothing, made
scarcely a sound in the soft sand. The moon was shining, and it
was warm as any summer evening. Jack sat on the ground beside the
wagon and played the banjo for half an hour. After a while we
walked over to the railroad. We could hear a faint rumble, and
concluded that a train was approaching.

"Let's wait for it," proposed Jack. "It will be along in a
moment."

We waited and listened. Then we distinctly heard the whistle
of a locomotive, and the faint roar gradually ceased.

"It's stopped somewhere," I said.

"Don't see what it should stop around here for," said Jack,
"unless to take on a sand-hill crane."

Then we heard it start up, run a short distance, and again