In the morning they started late, resting in the shade of the Gateway until the sun had swung to the west; and then, as the shadow of the Panamints stretched out across the Valley, they repacked and started down the slope. In the lead went old Jinny, the mother of the bunch, and Jack and Johnny and Baby; and following behind his burros, paced Death Valley Charley with a long, willow club in his hand. The Colonel strode ahead, his mind on weighty matters; and behind him came Virginia on her free-footed burro with Wiley plodding silently in the rear. At irregular intervals Heine would drop back from the lead and sniff at them each in turn, but nothing was said, for the air was furnace dry and they were saving their strength for the sand. At sundown they reached the edge of the first yielding sand-dune that presaged the long pull to come and Death Valley Charley stopped and opened up a water-can while the burros gathered eagerly around. Then he poured each of them a drink in his shapeless old hat and started them across the Sink. "Now, you see?" he said, "you see where Jinny goes? She heads straight for Stovepipe Hole. She knows she gits water there and that makes her hurry--and the others they tag along behind." He took another drink from the Colonel's private stock and smiled as he smacked his lips. "It's hot to-day," he observed, squinting down his eyes and gazing ahead through the haze; "yes, it's hot for this time of year. But Virginia, you ride; and when Tom won't go no further, git off and he'll lead you to camp." He went on ahead, swinging his club and laughing, and Heine trotted soberly at his side; and as he followed the trough of sand-wave after sand-wave, the rest plodded along behind. A dry, baking heat seemed to rise up from the ground and the air was heavy and still; the burros began to groan as they toiled up the slope and their flanks turned wet with sweat; and then, as they topped a wave, they felt the scorching breath of the Sink. It came in puffs like the waves of some great sea upon whose shores they had set their feet; a seething, heaving sea of heat, breathing death along its lonely beach. It struck through their clothes like a blast of wind or the shimmering glow of a furnace and at each drink of water the sweat damped their brows and trickled in streams down their faces. A wearied burro halted and, as Charley chased him with his club, the rest rushed ahead to escape; and then, as they came to the crest of the wave, Virginia's burro stopped dead. "I'll lead him," she said as Wiley came up, and started after the pack. Wiley walked along beside her, for he saw that she was spent; and as her slender feet sank deep in the yielding sand she lagged and slowed down, and stopped. Then as she turned to take her canteen from the saddle, she swayed and clutched at the horn.