little too exacting and hard to get along with. I've got more on my
brain than this prospect hole, and I'm worried. When I left the wife at
San Berdoo we were expecting an arrival in camp, and--well, we were
right down to bed-rock, and as it was a case of go now or never with
you, I had to bring you in here or perhaps lose the opportunity for a
fortune. She wanted me to go. She's a mighty brave little woman. You
don't happen to be a married man, do you? With kids? I've got--"

The Indian had paused and was pointing with his gad to the south. Miles
and miles away a great yellow cloud was gathering on the horizon,
shutting out the sunlight and advancing with incredible speed.

"Sandstorm" warned the Desert Rat, and spoke quickly to the mozo in
Spanish. The latter at once turned the cavalcade of burros toward the
hills, less than a mile distant; shouting and beating the heavily laden
little beasts into a trot, the party scurried for the shelter of a
rocky draw before the sandstorm should be upon them.

They won. Throughout that day and night they camped up the draw, safe
from the sand blast. Early next morning the wind had subsided and with
the exception of some slight changes in topography due to the
sandstorm, the desert was the same old silent pulseless mystery.

The party resumed its journey. While the Easterner remained with the
Indian, the Desert Rat circled out into the open, heading for a little
backbone of quartz which rose out of the sand. He had not noticed this
exposed ledge during their flight into the draw, and it was evident
that the sandstorm had exposed it.

Suddenly the mozo uttered a low "Whoa," and the burros halted. Off in