The next day they began work on the well. The ultimate success of the plant rested on the premise that not too far below the surface of the valley there was water. Dick was pessimistic on the subject. He came down one evening to view progress when, after three days of toil, the boys had dug to the depth of about ten feet. The three men lighted their pipes and squatted in the sand by the well hole. "I don't see why you don't establish your plant up in the range and use your power for mining," said Dick. "You'll never strike water here." "Unless we can develop irrigation plants, the idea would be just a toy here," replied Roger. "There's bound to be water here, if we go deep enough. You tell me the lower levels of the mines up in the ranges on both sides are wet." "Yes, they are," agreed Dick. "Why don't you fellows get an Indian to help you on this kind of work?" "Where would we get one?" asked Ernest doubtfully. "Oh, one is liable to mooch along the desert any time." "Are they good workmen?" Roger's voice was absentminded as he scowled at the well. "Some of them are wonders, but they are no good, unless you get a bunch of them under a chief. Then they're O. K." Roger groaned. Ernest laughed. "Remember, Rog," he said, "what Austin told us about the unexpected problems in the building of a desert plant." "You'll get plenty of those," agreed Dick. "Well, I'll be going back. If I see an Indian, I'll send him to you. In the meantime, remember that I'm your first purchaser of water, though my well's a regular gusher and will take care of more than the twenty-five acres I can get in this winter." "Don't be so sure," Roger chuckled. "You may come and apologize to our well and ask for a drink yet." Dick joined in the laugh at this suggestion and started homeward and the two Sun Planters went to bed. As if the desert were determined to show them early in the game a fair sample of its lesser annoyances, when Ernest entered the cook tent the next morning he found it fairly wrecked. All the canned goods had been rolled off the shelves and the labels had disappeared. Flour, sugar, crackers were knocked about in the sand. Ernest roared for Roger, who came on a run. "Looks as if a burro had been here from the tracks," exclaimed Roger. "Two or three burros, I should judge," said Ernest. "Why, Rog, the beggars have eaten all the can labels! We'll never know whether we're opening tomatoes or beans. That flour's useless, and so's the sugar. Look at the coffee! I told you not to leave it in a sack. Oh, hang it all! What a country!" "Let's see where the little devils went." Roger started out of the tent. The small hoof tracks were not difficult to find. Beyond the confines of the camp, the sand lay like untracked snow. When they picked up the trail, it led directly to the Coyote Range. Ernest suddenly spoke cheerfully. "We'll have to go up and ask Charley for some breakfast. It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good!"