By now, twilight had merged into night. On every side stretched the desert, as level, dark and melancholy as a sea. The mountain range to the northward, with its charred front one great inky shadow, was a dead island, rising out of a black waste of water. Blandy lighted the beacon, and it flamed up like the signal of someone shipwrecked. They kept the fire burning steadily. They listened for far-off cries. But they heard no cries, only constant movements in the blackness about the camp. Heretofore, the desert had withheld nearly all evidence of animate things. Now, sitting and waiting, they caught the soft _pad, pad_ of dog-like feet, the flutter of small wings. At dawn, Blandy set off on a hunt for tracks. He first circled the camp. The only outgoing trail he found ended near by in the dry bed of a stream. He followed the stream-bed toward Searles. When he had gone several miles, he retraced his steps and passed the camp on his way toward the mountains. It was late afternoon when he returned, tired out. But he came into sight waving his hat cheerily. “It’s all right,” he announced. “He went toward the mine.” While they were preparing to break camp and follow Patton, Polly saw that Blandy was digging up one of the two canteens he had cached. “On the way home, Jeff, can we make it from here to Searles on one?” she asked. “Easy.” “And from the mine to here, Jeff?” “We’ll ketch a canteenful where it drips into that bowl in the rock.” When they started forward, they were compelled to go slowly, not only because of Blandy’s weariness, but because Polly was foot-sore, though at first she strove to conceal the fact by keeping in the rear. At the end of five or six miles, however, she found herself unable to go farther. “Oh, I thought I’d be all right after so much rest,” she declared, out of patience with her own weakness. Blandy was all gentle consideration. “I don’t wonder your feet hurt you,” he answered. “You ain’t used to so much walkin’. Now, just you wait.” Off came pack-saddle, load and all. Then the saddle-blanket was replaced, with the shelter sacking on top of it, folded to make a comfortable seat. And soon Polly was mounted on the donkey. Behind her, balanced carefully, were two large canteens, a flour sack of provisions, and feed for the burro. She held the yellow umbrella over her head. They travelled until darkness made it impossible to follow Patton’s tracks, when camp was made again. “But if Harvey went straight to the mine,” argued Polly, “What’s the use of trailing him? Why not just go ahead?” “For the reason that yesterday Patton had the mine located thirty mile left of where it is. S’pose he was to git the same idear again?” Once more Blandy hunted mesquite roots. And far into the night his signal-fire lit the swells and hollows of the desert. At break of day they took up their journey once more, with Polly riding again, and drowsing now and then as the donkey picked his way along.