THE DESERT HAWKS


While our little party had been making its way so arduously across
the almost impenetrable waste of sand and alkali, another party
equipped with tough, desert-bred horses and a knowledge, so intimate
as to be uncanny, of the secret ways and trails of the sun-bitten
land, had made preparations for departure.

It had been no fancy on Peggy's part when she imagined that she
heard the partial details of a plot against Mr. Bell on the night
during which she had lain awake in the rough hotel of Blue Creek.
Had the party possessed the power of seeing through partitions of
solid timber, they would have been able to behold within that room a
scene transpiring which must, inevitably, have filled them with
uneasiness and even alarm.

Red Bill Summers, one of the best known of the desert hawks, as the
nefarious rascals who ply their highwayman's trade on the desert are
sometimes called, had been one of the passengers on the train whose
keenly observing eyes had surveyed the little party as they
disembarked. His companion, the man with the drooping moustache was
likewise invested with a somewhat sinister reputation. But probably
the worst of the trio who foregathered that night at the National
House was the romantic looking young man with the red sash and the
silver spurs whom the others called Buck Bellew.

Mr. Bell and his expedition into the desert formed the topic of
their conversation. It was evident, as they talked, that their main
desire was to trap or decoy him on his way, but as they discussed