Andy, having the glasses, swung them slowly to the southeast. After a minute or two he shook his head and gave the glasses to Luck. “There was one square look I got, and I'd been willing to swear it was our saddle-bunch,” he said. “And then they got to wobbling and I couldn't make out what they are. They might be field mice, or they might be giraffes--I'm darned if I know which.” Luck focussed the glasses, but whatever the objects had been, they were no longer to be seen. So the two hours passed and they saw Applehead and Lite come slowly up the hill from camp bearing their rifles and their ropes and a canteen of fresh water, as the three things they might find most use for. These two settled themselves to watch for horses--their own range horses. When they were relieved they reported nothing save a continued inclination on the part of the atmosphere to be what Andy called miragy. So, the day passed, chafing their spirits worse than any amount of active trouble would have done. Pink slept and brooded by turns, still blaming himself for the misfortune. The others moped, or took their turns on the pinnacle to strain their eyes unavailingly into the four corners of the earth--or as much as they could in those directions. With the going of the sun Applehead and Lite, sitting out their second guard on the pinnacle, discussed seriously the desperate idea of going in the night to the nearest Navajo ranch and helping themselves to what horses they could find about the place. The biggest obstacle was their absolute ignorance of where the nearest ranch lay. Not, surely, that half-day's ride back towards Albuquerque, where they had seen but one pony and that a poor specimen of horseflesh. Another obstacle would be the dogs, which could be quieted only with bullets. “We might git hold of something to ride,” Applehead stated glumly, “an' then agin the chances is we wouldn't git nothin' more'n a scrap on our hands. 'N' I'm tellin' yuh right now, Lite, I ain't hankerin' fer no fuss till I git a hoss under me.” “Me either,” Lite testified succinctly. “Say, is that something coming, away up that draw the camp's in? Seems to me I saw something pass that line of lava, about half a mile over.” Applehead stood up and peered into the half darkness. In a couple of minutes he said: “Ye better git down an' tell the boys t' be on the watch, Lite. They can't see no hat-wavin' this time uh day. They's somethin' movin' up to-wards camp, but what er who they be I can't make out in the dark. Tell Luck--” “What's the matter with us both going?” Lite asked, cupping his hands around his eyes that he might see better. “It's getting too dark to do any good up here--” “Well, I calc'late mebby yore right,” Applehead admitted, and began to pick his way down over the rocks. “Ef them's Injuns, the bigger we stack up in camp the better. If it's Ramon 'n' his bunch, I want t' git m' hands on 'im.”