Jefferson Worth, Pat and the boy attempted to dig in the steep side
of the drift that rose above the half-buried outfit, but at their
every movement tons of the dry sand came sliding down upon them. "It
ain't no use, Mr. Worth," said Texas, as the banker straightened up,
baffled in his effort. "You will never know what's buried in there
until God Almighty uncovers it."

Then the man of the desert and plains read the story of the tragedy
as though he had been an eye witness. "They was travelin' light an'
counted on makin' good time. They must have counted, too, on,
findin' water in the hole." He kicked the empty keg. "Their supply
give out an' then that sand-storm caught 'em and the horses broke
loose. Of course they would go to hunt their stock, not darin' to be
left afoot and without water, an' hits a thousand to one they never
got back to the outfit. We're takin' too many chances ourselves to
lose much time and I don't reckon there's any use, but we'd better
look around maybe."

He directed the little party to scatter and to keep on the high
ground so that they would not lose sight of each other. Until well
on in the afternoon they searched the vicinity, but with no reward,
while the hot sun, the dry burning waste and the glaring sands of
the desert warned them that every hour's delay might mean their own
death. When they returned at last to the wagon, called in by Texas,
no one spoke. As they went on their way each was busy with his own
thoughts of the grim evidence of the desert's power.

Another hour passed. Suddenly Texas halted the mules and, with an
exclamation, leaped to the ground. The others saw that he was