It was the middle of the morning when a low cry from Blandy suddenly startled her into wakefulness. He had come short, halting the donkey, and was examining the ground. “What is it?” she asked. “Here’s a man’s tracks and a burro’s, crossin’ this trail at right angles, and goin’ west. They’re fresher’n the ones we been follerin’.” “Harvey’s?” “Shore.” “What’ll we do, Jeff?” “Strike out after him. He’s makin’ for that wrong spur!” They turned aside, and started off in the new direction. During the remainder of the morning, they were headed almost due west. But at noon Patton’s footprints led him toward the north-west, then toward the north--directly away from Searles. Shortly after noon, they made an alarming discovery. It was Patton’s donkey, stretched lifeless on the baked ground. Away from the carcass a grey wolf-form raced, and was lost in the grey of sand and sage. “Short of water,” said Blandy, and shook his head. Polly covered her eyes. “Oh, poor little thing!” she whispered. “Jeff, give mine a good drink.” He came to stand beside her. “Polly,” he said, “I can’t. And if we’re goin’ to keep follerin’ this trail and locate Patton, this little animal”--he laid a hand on the donkey’s neck--“has got to go.” “Are _we_ short of water?” “There’s a good deal left. But I ain’t give the donkey a swaller since yesterday noon. We got to be savin’. It’s likely that Patton’ll need water bad.” Soon the tracks they were following turned due east. “He run outen water,” Blandy explained gravely. “He’s headed back to the bowl.” But when they, too, turned about to start back, their burro abruptly stopped, and refused to be coaxed or urged forward. “Yas, git down,” said Blandy as Polly prepared to dismount. “And go on for about a quarter of a mile. I’ll bring the things.” She obeyed, fairly running to escape the sound of the dreaded pistol-shot. When he came trudging up to her, carrying a canteen and the provisions sack, she was seated in a heap, her face hid in her hands. “There! There!” he said consolingly. “We _had_ to leave him.” They hurried forward as fast as they were able, Blandy compelling Polly to take a swallow of water every little while, but drinking none himself. Before long Patton’s trail was giving them much concern. It veered to the right for a few rods, then it veered to the left, winding crazily. “’Fraid he was just a little off his head,” said Blandy. “Nothin’ to worry about, though. We’ll find him.” But their concern steadily increased as they travelled. For by late afternoon, with the bowl still at some distance, they found no more footprints to follow--only two winding marks. Patton was dragging himself forward on his knees! They came upon his hat next. An hour later, the sun glittered on something a short way in advance. It was a canteen. Its woolen covering had been torn from it in ragged bits that strewed the ground. And about the round opening were the marks of teeth. “Hurry!” breathed Blandy.