"On wind, too. They've traveled hard, and they can't be in the pink
of condition. According to Hoff, they deserted him while he was
taking a nap, about four o'clock in the afternoon. It's a fair bet
they'd camp for the night, as you say it's an eight hour hike to the
tenaja."

"Eight, the way they'd go."

"Then--er--there's a--er--shorter way?" drawled Average Jones,
removing some sand from a wrinkle in his scarified and soiled
trousers as carefully as if that were the one immediate and
important consideration in life.

"Yes. Across the Padre Cliffs. It cuts off about four hours, and
it takes us almost to the secret tenaja I spoke of. We can fill up
there. But it's not what you'd call safe, even in daylight."

"But to a hunter, wouldn't it be well worth the risk for a record
pair of horns--even if they were only tin horns?" queried Average
Jones suggestively.

Captain Funcke relaxed into a grin. He nodded.

"What'll we do with him?" he asked, jerking his head toward the
sleeper.

"Leave him water, food and a note. Now, about this Tenaja Poquita
we're headed for. How much water do you think there is in it?"