Abington looked at him, looked past him to where Bill pointed an unsteady finger. He got off the ledge and limped over to the nearest carcass, looked it over carefully, walked to the others and examined them, and returned thoughtfully to camp. Bill had kindled a fire and was starting off to the spring with an empty bucket when Abington stopped him. “Hey, come back here! Don’t use any water from that spring.” “Yeah? Where will I use water from, then?” “From a canteen. I filled two yesterday. The burros were at the spring this morning and stampeded from there. I can’t be certain yet, of course, but I think the water is poisoned.” Bill stared, his jaw sagging. Abington was looking out across the valley, his eyes narrowed and blacker than Bill had ever seen them. “I may be wrong, Bill, but we can’t afford to take a chance. One burro might suddenly pass out with heart failure, but when three of them turn up their toes in the same way and at the same moment, the coincidence will bear investigation, I think!” “How could that sheep thing poison a spring?” Bill’s tone implied violent incredulity. “I don’t know. I’m merely stating what appears to be a fact. Three burros drank at that spring and afterward stampeded out of the cañon and dropped dead in the open. I’m assuming that the water in the spring, or at least in the little pool below it, was poisoned. They must have been scared away, else they would have died right there near the spring. Yes, I think it will bear investigation!” “Yeah, but in the meantime we’ve got to have water,” Bill said gloomily, shaking a canteen gently before he poured a little into his makeshift coffeepot. “I don’t aim to stick around till my tongue swells up, doing fancy thinkin’ about a poisoned spring. Suit yourself, professor, but I’m going to hunt water, soon as we go through the motions of eating.” “I suppose in time the spring will clear itself and run pure,” Abington reassured him with a twitching of his bearded lips. “If we were to stay here, we could divert the trickle from the rocks and soon have another pool. But we could never be sure that it was not poisoned again. No, Bill, we’ll have to get our belongings together and move across the valley.” “A darn hard job,” muttered Bill, “packing everything on our backs.” And he added: “That sheep thing can travel, too; don’t overlook that fact, professor.” CHAPTER VI--READY FOR A BLOW The eastern rim of the valley stood crimson where the westering sun struck it full, bringing into bold relief each cañon and crag, the smallest fold and the smoothest boulder; as if a contour map had been painstakingly modeled on a gigantic scale in red sealing wax, or as if a world aflame had been paralyzed into utter silence. Toward that garish pile of shattered hills, Abington and Bill Jonathan plodded with the low sun at their backs, which were burdened heavily with as much of their camp supplies as they had been able to retrieve and could carry.