“Ned,” said Obed, “how much dust of the desert do you think I am carrying upon me?  Let your answer be without prejudice.  Friendship in this case must not stand in the way of truth.”

“Do you mean by weight or by area?”

“Both.”

“Answering by guess I should say about three square yards, or about three pounds.  Wouldn’t you say about the same for me?”

“Just about the same.  I should say, too, that we carry at least twelve or fifteen kinds of dirt.  It is well soaked in our hair and also in our clothes, and, as we may not get another good chance for a bath in a month, we’d better use our opportunity.”

They reveled in the cool waters.  They also washed out all their clothing, including their serapes, and let the garments dry in the sun.  It was the most luxurious stop that they had made and they enjoyed it to the full.  Ned, scouting a little distance up the stream, shot a fine fat deer among the bushes, and that night they had a feast of tender steaks.  Obed had obtained flint and steel at the Indian village, at which they had seen the fandango, and he could light a fire with them, a most difficult thing to do.  Their fire was of dried cactus, burning rapidly, but it lasted long enough for their cooking.  After the heartiest meal that they had eaten in a long time, they stretched out by the river, listening to its pleasant flow.  The remainder of the deer they had hung high in the branches of a myrtle oak about forty yards away.

“We haven’t got our horses,” said Obed, “but we’re making progress.  Time and tide will carry man with them if he’s ready with his boat.”

“Perhaps we’ve been lucky, too,” said Ned, “in passing through what is mostly a wilderness.”

“That’s so.  The desert is a hard road, but in our case it keeps enemies away.”

They were lying on their serapes, the waters sang softly, the night was dark but very cool and pleasant, and they were happy.  But Ned suddenly saw something that made him reach out and touch his companion.

“Look!” he whispered, pointing a finger.

They saw a dark figure creep on noiseless feet toward the tree, from a bough of which hung their deer.  It was only a shadow in the night, but they knew that it was a cougar, drawn by the savor of the deer.

“Don’t shoot,” whispered Obed.  “He can’t get our meat, but we’ll watch him try.”

They lay quite still and enjoyed the joke.  The cougar sprang again and again, making mighty exertions, but always the rich food swung just out of his reach.  Once or twice his nose nearly touched it, but the two or three inches of gulf which he could never surmount were as much as two or three miles.  He invariably fell back snarling, and he became so absorbed in the hopeless quest that there was no chance of his noticing the man and boy who lay not far away.

The humor of it appealed strongly to Ned and Obed.  The cougar, after so many vain leaps, lay on the ground for a while panting.  Then he ran up the tree, and as far out on the bough as he dared.  He reached delicately with a forefoot, but he could not touch the strips of bark with which the body was tied.  Then he lay flat upon the bough and snarled again and again.