The start that morning had been delayed until nearly noon while they searched vainly for some clew to the mystery that had in a few hours held an orgy of wanton destructiveness in two camps and had poisoned their water supply and killed three burros. Human malevolence had been displayed in that last attack, Abington was convinced. Yet in spite of all his skill, all the careful attention to details which his scientific training had made second nature, he had failed to discover the slightest evidence of a human agency at work against them. Not a sign, not a track, save those enormous sheep tracks leaving the vicinity of the spring and going off up a narrow ravine in great strides which made it hopeless to think of overtaking it; for without water he did not dare attempt any prolonged search. Now, with a half mile of red sand to plow through before they reached the first bold hillside, their eyes clung perforce to the seamed, broken rampart they were nearing. A dazzling light that flashed and was gone, then came again and stood motionless for a space while one might count fifteen, showed high up on a ridge as evenly serrated as a rooster’s comb, and quite as red. Abington came to a full stop which he made a rest period by slipping the heavy pack from his shoulders. Nothing loath, Bill did likewise. The two sat down on the sand beside their bundles, mopping perspiration from faces and necks. “Bill, when I get up and stand in front of you, look past me at the sharp peak just south of the mountain--the first one on the ridge straight before us. Tell me if you see anything that might be a reflection of the sun--from a telescope, we’ll say, or more likely a pair of field glasses. No, don’t look yet. Remember that with good glasses a man could read the expression on your face, read your lips, too, if he’s had any training.” At the first sentence Bill’s face had hardened. “You don’t have to preach caution to a man that’s been on the dodge long as I have,” he muttered bitterly, under cover of lighting a cigarette. “Shoot. What d’you think--that it’s an officer, maybe?” “I’m not thinking past the field glasses that I believe are focused on us,” Abington parried, rising and standing so that his back was to the ridge while he held up his watch before Bill’s face. “He may think I’m trying to hypnotize you, but it’s an excuse. Look right past this watch, to a point between the second and third little pinnacles on the ridge. See anything?” “Something moved, in the notch just below that pinnacle. I got it against the sky for a minute. There ain’t any shine, though. Might have been a sheep.” Abington put away his watch, stooped and shouldered his pack. Bill slipped his arms through the rope loops and wriggled his own burden into place on his back as he got up. “Wouldn’t think they’d be lookin’ for me away down here,” he said uneasily, after a few rods of silent plodding. “Not unless you--” He sent an involuntary glance toward his companion.