Back at the bowl once more, he filled a canteen and hung it to the pack-saddle, took another long drink himself, and let the donkey have all that remained. Then, reaching into an inside pocket of his shirt, he brought out something that was wrapped in a piece of newspaper. He unwound the paper, disclosing a small bottle, which he uncorked. And having measured the size of the bowl with his eye, he dropped three round, white tablets into it. This done, he dampened a handkerchief from the canteen and laid it, folded, upon his hair. For the long miles in the sun had told on him, and there was a feeling of heat and pressure at the top of his skull. A few minutes later, he set off once more, due west, completely avoiding the Searles route to the southward. * * * * * When Polly awoke, the sun was already down, and twilight was settling. Fearing that she had delayed the departure, she sprang to her feet. But Blandy was still snoring. And close at hand was a saddleless burro, head lowered and fast asleep. She began to call: “Harvey! Oh, Harv!” The snoring ceased. The yellow umbrella toppled. Blandy’s tall figure rose. “Gosh! but ain’t I snoozed!” he exclaimed. She called again: “Harvey! Where are you? Jeff! One of the burros is gone!” “Oh, I guess he’s there, all right,” answered Blandy. “You know, a donk’s the same colour as the ground.” “But he _isn’t_ there,” persisted Polly. “Or Harvey, either.” And as Blandy hastened by, she joined him. When they halted, each scanned the desert. Then, “You’re right,” Blandy admitted gravely. “That blamed burro must a-strayed. I never _did_ like the little cuss. He had a bad look in one eye.” She raised an anxious face to his. “The donkey isn’t to blame,” she declared. “Harvey’s left us.” “No! Why? Sore about your comin’?” “He _told_ me to come.” Blandy strode over to the packs. And a first glimpse told him that Polly was right. Feed and provisions were missing, and all but one of the uncached canteens. “Jeff!” Polly had followed him, and she spoke in a frightened whisper. “Don’t drink any of this water till you’ve given the donkey some.” Blandy stared down at her. “Why not?” he asked, perplexed. “Don’t--don’t ask me, Jeff.” His face went grim with understanding. “I guess I understand,” he said. The canteen that Patton had left behind him was thoroughly shaken and the donkey was given a generous drink. Then Blandy left the camp to gather mesquite roots. When he returned, a half-hour later, the little animal was resting, head swagged low. But while Blandy was watching him, the shaggy head came up and the donkey brayed--loud and long, after which he fell to yawning, ears flopped to either side lazily. Plainly the water had done him no harm. Blandy set to work to build a fire. “You see,” he said, “Patton might change his mind about leavin’ us.”