They rode over to where the turkey had fallen, and Jake swung him up on the saddle. He would go all of eleven pounds. Except for his red legs and the absence of a broad white band across his tail feathers, there was nothing to distinguish him from the domesticated turkey of the farm. They tied this one and Scotty’s together and hung them in a tree, and then rode out up the draw for further adventures. The gully rose and widened out into a swale, filled with thick brown bear grass; beyond it began the sage and greasewood bushes, as moisture became scantier in the soil. To the right reared the immense escarpments of the red buttes; ahead a long, level sky line proclaimed some sort of divide. “Waal, son, if you’re ready to jingle a spur, it’s jest likely we may see a couple of prong-horns over that divide. They lays out back here in the desert, for thar’s no drivin’ ’em away from water. I suppose you’d like to git one, hey?” inquired Jake. “I’d love to _see_ an antelope, but to shoot one--not on a bet!” returned Scotty, shaking his head stoutly. A look of pleased surprise crossed Red Jake’s face. “Waal now!” he grinned, all interest. “Ef you ain’t the first sport that’s come down here that wasn’t all-fired crazy to snake out one of our antelopes! Th’ Major, he don’t shoot none, because they’se mighty scarce--but a guest,--of course, he don’t _say_ nothin’, but----” Jake’s pantomime was expressive. “Say, them sports’ll put in all their chips the first round to git a prong-horn!” “Just let me _see_ one, wild, that’s all,” said Scotty, feeling that his stock was rising in the Arizonan’s estimation. “None of us may ever look upon another, soon, you know.” They spurred up and rode out into the desert back of the red buttes. It was hot and bare and dotted with sage. It shimmered with heat waves, and glared like iron slag under the pitiless sun. The desert was in a far different mood, now, than when the glories of sunset and dawn made it splendid; it was now a scene of endless desolation, with sun-baked gray mesas standing sentinel across it, stretched to the north. “Look! Thar they go! See ’em!” cried Jake, pointing suddenly across the distant plains with his finger. Scotty puckered up his eyes and searched the shimmering heat as best he could. _Some_thing was moving, far to the north. Like twin gray ghosts were they, bounding with incredible speed and tirelessness. Then one stopped and looked back toward them. A white flash appeared from his rump. Immediately he melted into the same gray invisibility as before. “That’s their signal, that rump flash!” exclaimed Jake. “The ha’rs move, jest like you’d turn plush. They signals a warning, that way, to try out anything so far off they cayn’t see it well. If we could make a white flash like that in answer they’d think we was another herd. Look your fill, sonny, this is about as near as we’ll git to them.”