and thus saving an hour of the most ticklish going of the journey.
Thanks to this dispensation, the two men reached the Tenaja Poquita
before dawn. Scouting ahead, the captain reported no fresh trail
except coyotes and mule deer, and not more than seventy-five gallons
of water in the basin. Of this they both drank deeply. Then after
they had filled all the canteens, Average Jones unfolded his scheme
to the captain.

"If any one caught us at it," commented that experienced hunter,
"we'd be shot without warning. However, the water would be
evaporated in a few days anyhow, and I'll post notices at the next
watercamps. I'm with you."

Taking turn and turn about with the pail, they bailed out the
rock-basin, scattering the water upon the greedy sand. What little
moisture remained in the sticky mud at the bottom they blotted up
with more sand. They then rolled in boulders. Average Jones looked
down into the hollow with satisfaction, and moved his full canteens
into a grotto.

"This company," he said, "is now open for business."

At eight o'clock there was a clatter of boots upon the rocks and two
men came staggering up the defile. Colonel Richford and his partner
did not look to be in good repair. The colonel's face was drawn and
sun-blotched. His companion, the "Fred" of Silent Charley's bar,
was bloated and shaken with liquor. Both panted with the hard, dry,
open-lipped breath of the first stage of thirst-exhaustion. The
colonel, who was in the lead, checked and started upon discovering
astride of a rock a pleasant visaged young man of a familiar