inquiringly as he lifted another dripping bucket.

"Some," returned Tex. "There are three water holes between here and
the river where there's water sometimes. Mostly, though, when you
need it worst, there ain't none there, an' I reckon a dry water hole
is about the most discouragin' proposition there is. They'll all be
dry this trip. There wasn't nothin' but mud at Wolf Wells when we
come through last week."

Again the barren rocks and the grim, forbidding hills echoed the
loud sound of wheel and hoof. Down the steep flank of the mountain,
with screaming, grinding brakes, they thundered and clattered into
the narrow hall-way of Devil's Canyon with its sheer walls and
shadowy gloom. The little stream that trickled down from the tiny
spot of green at the spring tried bravely to follow but soon sank
exhausted into the dry waste. A cool wind, like a draft through a
tunnel, was in their faces. After perhaps two hours of this the way
widened out, the sides of the canyon grew lower with now and then
gaps and breaks. Then the walls gave way to low, rounded hills,
through which the winding trail lay--a bed of sand and gravel--and
here and there appeared clumps of greasewood and cacti of several
varieties.

At length they passed out from between the last of the foot-hills
and suddenly--as though a mighty curtain were lifted--they faced the
desert. At their feet the Mesa lay in a blaze of white sunlight, and
beyond and below the edge of the bench the vast King's Basin
country.

At the edge of the Mesa Texas halted his team and the little party