Helen looked up; already Howard had passed out of sight; already her father’s two pack horses had followed the rancher’s mare beyond the brushy flank of the hill and Longstreet himself would be out of her sight in another moment.  She turned a last look upon the still pond and hurried on.

Now again, as upon yesterday and the day before, the desert seemed without limit about them.  The hot sun mounted; the earth sweltered and baked and blistered.  Heat waves shimmered in the distances; the distances themselves were withdrawn into the veil of ultimate distances over which the blazing heat lay in what seemed palpable strata; crunching rock and gravel in the dry water-courses burned through thick sole-leather; burning particles of sand got into boots and irritated the skin; humans and horses toiled on, hour after hour, from early listlessness to weariness and, before noon, to parched misery.  Even Howard, who confessed that he was little used to walking, admitted that this sort of thing made no great hit with him.  During the forenoon he again offered his mount to Helen; when she sought to demur and hoped to be persuaded, he suggested a compromise; they would take turns, she, her father and himself.  By noon, when they camped for lunch and a two hours’ rest, all three had ridden.

Barely perceptibly the sweeps about them had altered during the last hour before midday.  Here and there were low hills dotted occasionally by trees, covered with sparse dry grass.  Here, said Howard, were the outer fringes of the grazing land; his cattle sometimes strayed as far as this.  The spot chosen for nooning was a suspicion less breathlessly hot; there was a sluggish spring ringed about with wiry green grass and shaded by a clump of mongrel trees.

Helen ate little and then lay down and slept.  Longstreet, his knees gathered in his arms, his back to a tree, sat staring thoughtfully across the billowing country before them; Howard smoked a cigarette, stood a moment looking curiously down at the weary figure of the girl, and then strode off to the next shade for his own siesta.

‘Rode pretty well all night,’ he explained half apologetically to Longstreet as he went.  ‘And haven’t walked this much since last time.’

Between two and three they started on again.  It grew cooler; constantly as they went forward the earth showed growing signs of fertility and, here and there, of moisture guarded and treasured under a shaggy coat of herbage.  Within the first hour they glimpsed a number of scattered cattle and mules; once Helen cried out at the discovery of a small herd of deer browsing in a shaded draw.  Then came a low divide; upon its crest was an outcropping of rock.  Here Howard waited until his two companions came up with him; from here he pointed, sweeping his arm widely from north to east and south of east.

‘The Last Ridge country, yonder,’ he said.