began to use one side of it as a scoop. He scooped out a wide
hollow, so wide that Cameron was certain he had gone crazy. Cameron
gently urged him to stop, and then forcibly tried to make him.
But these efforts were futile. Warren worked with slow, ceaseless,
methodical movement. He toiled for what seemed hours. Cameron,
seeing the darkening, dampening sand, realized a wonderful possibility
of water, and he plunged into the pit with the other half of the
canteen. Then both men toiled, round and round the wide hole,
down deeper and deeper. The sand grew moist, then wet. At the
bottom of the deep pit the sand coarsened, gave place to gravel.
Finally water welled in, a stronger volume than Cameron ever
remembered finding on the desert. It would soon fill the hole and
run over. He marveled at the circumstance. The time was near
the end of the dry season. Perhaps an underground stream
flowed from the range behind down to the valley floor, and at
this point came near to the surface. Cameron had heard of such
desert miracles.

The finding of water revived Cameron's flagging hopes. But they
were short-lived. Warren had spend himself utterly.

"I'm done. Don't linger," he whispered. "My son, go--go!"

Then he fell. Cameron dragged him out of the sand pit to a
sheltered place under the ledge. While sitting beside the failing
man Cameron discovered painted images on the wall. Often in the
desert he had found these evidences of a prehistoric people. Then,
from long habit, he picked up a piece of rock and examined it.
Its weight made him closely scrutinize it. The color was a
peculiar black. He scraped through the black rust to find a