The stern iron tones of his voice told them that that was an order, peremptory as death! Sid curled up and tried to forget that he was alive. An hour later he looked out. There was no change, except a greater and yellower light, showing that the sun was busy somewhere high above all this. But, off to the left, right near the lean-to, were three large, indistinct objects, all in a row, that he finally perceived were their horses. Sid’s heart smote him. More than any speech was the dumb appeal of those three heads! They were asking their men for water--and not getting it! Unmoved they stood there, patient, but eager. If one whinnied, the sound was lost in the howl of the storm. Sid thought of his own canteen grimly. Not until they moved would man or beast touch water again! It was precious as dear life, now. About eleven o’clock the storm blew out. Their first intimation of it was a dazzling yellow haze, rapidly thinning the murk of sand dust and as rapidly showing the details of rock and gulch near by in the desert. The dust thinned out, and blue sky began to develop overhead, and then the whole yellow cloud drifted off north and they could dash out of their shelter and begin digging the sand off saddles and equipment. “Ramble, fellers!--Ramble!” whooped Big John, yanking his saddle up out of the heap of sand that buried all the horse gear. “We’ll roll our freight out of here for Misery Tank, plumb pronto! We jest gotta git thar, come night, for--here goes the last of our water for the hosses!” Their second water bag collapsed flat, as a scant half pail was drawn from it for each of the three horses. The dogs got a remnant that was left, and then it was rolled up and stowed as of no further use. With eager haste the saddles were cinched, cantle rolls made up, and rifle scabbards slung. Then with a leg over and a chirrup to the dogs, they rode out of “Thirsty Gulch,” as Big John had named it. Sand, sand, sand; and miles, miles, miles! Black Mesa passed them to the south, and then came a great cliff with wavy stratified lines streaked across its face and flowering plants nearly buried in sand strewing the slopes that led up to it. The horses whinnied and started on the first real run they had made that day. They smelled water, and it did not need Big John’s finger pointing to a deep rocky chasm under the cliff to tell where it lay. A rippled slope of white sand led up to it--and then the boys reined up with a cry of dismay. The tank was filled to the brim with white sand drift! CHAPTER XI WHITE MESA “Whoa, thar, pards! The world ain’t fell over the moon, jist yet!” guffawed Big John at their blank faces. “She’s thar, boys, only you’ve got to dig fer her. This desert’s full of them little tricks on the pore tenderfoot.”