"In the name of the law," he said grimly, hauling out the enclosure. "Now we'll see what's the row. Holy smoke! it's in Spanish! Here, Jim, do you read that lingo?" "I know words here and there," and Westcott bent over the paper, his brows wrinkling. "Let's see, it's not quite clear, but the sense is that Mendez will be paid a thousand dollars for something--I can't make out what, only it has to do with prisoners. Lacy says he'll be there to confer with him some time to-night." "Where? At Sunken Valley?" "The place is not mentioned." "Lacy write it?" "Yes; at least he signed it; there's a message there about cattle, too, but I can't quite make it out." "Well, we don't care about that. If Lacy aims to meet Mendez to-night, he ought to be along here soon after nightfall. How'd it do to hide in these sand-hills, and wait?" "We can do that, Dan, if we don't hit any trail," said Westcott, leaning over, his hand on the other's knee, "but if we can get there earlier, I'd rather not waste time. There's no knowing what a devil like Mendez may do. Let's take a scout around anyhow." They started, the one going east, the other west, and made a semicircle until they met, a hundred yards or so, south of the spring, having found nothing. Again they circled out, ploughing their way through the sand, and all at once Brennan lifted his hand into the air and called. Westcott hurried over to where he stood motionless, staring down at the track of a wagon-wheel. It had slid along a slight declivity, and left a mark so deep as not yet to be obliterated. They traced it for thirty feet before it entirely disappeared. "Still goin' south," affirmed the marshal, gazing in that direction. "Don't look like there's nothin' out there, but we might try--what do you say?" "I vote we keep moving; that wagon is bound to leave a trail here and there, and so long as we get the general direction, we can't go far wrong." "I reckon you're right. Come on then; let's saddle up." It was a blind trail, and progress was slow. The men separated, riding back and forth, leaning forward in the saddles, scanning the sand for the slightest sign. Again and again they were encouraged by some discovery which proved they were on the right track--the clear print of a horse's hoof; a bit of greasy paper which might have been tied round a lunch, and thrown away; impresses in the sand which bore resemblance to a man's footprints; a tin can, newly opened, and an emptied tobacco-pouch. Twice they encountered an undoubted wheel mark, and once traces of the whole four wheels were plainly visible. These could be followed easily for nearly a quarter of a mile, but then as quickly vanished as the wagon came again to an outcropping of rock. Yet this was assured--the outfit had headed steadily southward.