For the space of a hundred oar-strokes Average Jones ruminated.

"Suppose--er--they didn't--er--find any water in the Tenaja Poquita,
either?" he drawled.

"Then they would be up against it."

"And there's no other water in the Pintos?"

"Yes, there is," said the captain. "There's a tenaja that's so high
up and so hidden that it's only known to one other man besides me,
and he's an Indian. It's less than an hour from the tenaja that
Richford will take his party to. And we're sure of finding water
there. It never dries up this early."

"Get me to young Hoff, then, Captain. You're in command from the
moment we land."

It was broad day when the keel pushed softly into the muddy bottom
of a long, shallow arm of the lake. Captain Funcke rose, stretched
the kinks out of his back, and jumped ashore.

"You say I'm in command?" he inquired.

"Absolute."

"Then you roll up under that mesquite and fall asleep. I'm going to
cast about for their trail."

To the worn-out oarsman, it seemed only a few moments later that an