The ride was hot and dusty, and, in order to make up for lost
time, the party was riding fast, but the ponies, though already
flecked with foam, appeared to be as fresh as at the start.

"What time do you think we will reach the mountains?" called Anne,
who was suffering tortures from the heat and dust.

"Sundown," briefly answered the guide. "It will be worse than this
after we reach the desert."

"Worse!" groaned Emma. "I shall expire, I know I shall."

The mountains, for which they were heading, were looming larger
now, and looked cool and inviting compared to the heat of their
present position.

"What is that smoke?" asked Grace Harlowe, as they neared the
range, pointing to a thin spiral of vapor rising from the
mountains.

"I reckon it's in our camp. Ping should have chow ready by the
time we get there."

"You intend to go on this evening, do you not?" asked Grace.

"Yes. You said you were in a hurry to get to the desert."

"I shouldn't put it that way, Mr. Lang, but I am rather eager to
get into the real phase of our journey, and eager to know what the