"My friends," said Wellesly, in an even tone in which could barely be heard here and there the note of suppressed anger, "if you think you are going to Muletown in this direction, all right, go ahead. That's your funeral. But it isn't mine. If anybody in this crowd is turned around I'm not the man. I have been, thanks to your very ingenious efforts, but I'm not now, and I'm not going any farther in this direction. Unless you can get a little more light on which way is west I'm afraid we'll have to part company. Good-bye, gentlemen. I'm going back." He turned his horse squarely around and faced the long, gray levels of the darkening desert. As his eye swept over that forbidding, waterless, almost trackless waste, a sudden fear of its horrors smote through his anger and chilled his resolution. Haney spurred his horse to Wellesly's side, exclaiming: "Stop, Mr. Wellesly! You can't go back over that desert alone in the night! Why, you couldn't follow the road two miles after dark! You know 'ow uncertain it is by day, and in the dark you simply can't see it at all. The desert is 'ell 'erself in the daytime, and it's worse at night." Wellesly did not reply, for his resolve was wavering. Jim came beside them, swearing over the delay. "See here," he said, "we've got no time to fool away. If this here tenderfoot thinks he knows better than we do which way we're going, just let him round-up by himself. I've been over this here road dozens of times, I reckon, and I know every inch of it, but I wouldn't undertake to travel a mile after night and keep to the trail. Maybe he can. If he thinks he's so darned much smarter than we are let him try it." "Can we make Muletown to-night?" asked Haney. Jim swore a big oath. "Didn't you hear me say I don't do no travelin' on this road at night? No, sir. I know a canyon up in the mountain a ways where there's sweet water and I'm goin' to camp there to-night. If you folks want to come with me and eat prospector's grub, all right, you're welcome." "Thank you, pard," said Haney. "For my part, I'll be glad to get it. You'd better come too, Mr. Wellesly. It will be sure death, of the sort we've been talking about this afternoon, for you to start back alone." "You're right," said Wellesly. "I'll go with you." Jim rode into a canyon which led them into the mountains and for a mile or more their horses scrambled and stumbled over boulders and sand heaps. Then they turned into another, opening at right angles into the first, and after a time they could hear the crunching of wet sand under their horses' feet and finally the tinkle of a little waterfall met their ears. "Here's the place," said Jim, dismounting. "Sure this isn't h'alkali?" said Haney. "You and the tenderfoot needn't drink it if you don't want to," growled Jim. "And you needn't stay with me if you're afraid I'm a-going to pizen your coffee."