dark eyes alight--swung his long whip and handled his reins with a
master's skill, calling upon every atom of his team's strength,
while reading those tracks in the sand as one would scan a printed
page.

It was all written there--that story of mother love; where she
staggered with fatigue; where she was forced to rest; where the baby
walked a little way; and once or twice where the little one stumbled
and fell as the sand proved too heavy for the little feet. And all
the while the desert, dragging with dead weight at the wheels,
seemed to fight against them. It was as though the dreadful land
knew that only time was needed to complete its work. Then the hot
sun dropped beyond the purple wall of mountain and the mystery of
the long twilight began.

"Dry River Crossing is just ahead," said Tex, and soon the outfit
pitched down the steep bank of a deep wash that had been made in
some forgotten age by an overflow of the great river. Occasionally,
after the infrequent rains of winter, some water was to be found
here in a hole under the high bank a short way from the trail.

With a crash of brakes the team stopped at the bottom. The men,
springing from the wagon and leaving the panting mules to stand with
drooping heads, started to search the wash. But in a moment Texas
shouted and the others quickly joined him. Near the dry water hole
lay the body of a woman. By her side was a small canteen.

[Illustration: He had lifted the canteen and was holding it upside
down.]