“Say,” said a tall, lank cowman, “if you’ll go in and sleep till daylight, usn’ll scour this part of the desert with a fine-tooth comb.  So you all won’t lose a minute by taking a little rest.  An’ if we find the Injun we’ll string him up and save you the trouble.”

DeWitt spoke for the first time.

“If you find the Indian,” he said succinctly, “he’s mine!”

There was a moment’s silence in the crowd.  These men were familiar with elemental passion.  DeWitt’s feeling was perfectly correct in their eyes.  The pause came as each pictured himself in DeWitt’s place with the image of the delicate Eastern girl suffering who knew what torments constantly before him.

“If Mr. Kelly can arrange for that,” said Jack, “I guess it will about save our lives.  I’d like a chance to write a letter to my wife.”

“You ought to go back to the ditch, Jack,” said DeWitt, “Porter and I will manage somehow.”

Jack gave DeWitt a strange look.

“Rhoda’s a lifelong friend of mine.  She was stolen from my home by my friend whom I told her she could trust.  Katherine and the foreman can run the ranch.”

By the time that the four had washed themselves, Kelly had his men dotted over the surrounding desert.  For the first time in weeks, the searchers sat down at a table.  DeWitt, Porter and Newman were in astonishing contrast to the three who had dined at the Newman ranch the night of Cartwell’s introduction to Porter.  Their khaki clothes had gradually been replaced by nondescript garments picked up at various ranches.  DeWitt and Porter boasted of corduroy trousers, while Jack wore overalls.  On the other hand, Jack wore a good blue flannel shirt, while the other two displayed only faded gingham garments that might have answered to almost any name.  All of them were a deep mahogany color, with chapped, split lips and bleached hair, while DeWitt’s eyes were badly inflamed from sun-glare and sand-storm.

They ate silently.  Dick Kelly, sitting at the head of the table, plied them with food and asked few questions.  DeWitt’s shaking hands told him that questions were torture to the poor fellow.  After the meal Kelly led them to bed at once, and they slept without stirring until four o’clock in the morning, when the Chinaman called them.  Breakfast was steaming on the table.

“Now,” said Kelly, as his guests ate, “the boys didn’t get a smell for ye, but we’ve a suggestion.  Have you been through the Pueblo country yet?”

“No,” said Porter.

“Well,” the host went on, “Chira is the only place round here except my ranch where he could get a new outfit.  He’s part Pueblo, you know, too.  I’d start for there if I was you.”

Carlos entered to hear this suggestion.

“I’ve got a friend at Chira,” he said, “who might help us.  He’s a half-breed.”

The tired men took eagerly to this forlorn hope.  With all the population of the ranch, including the cook, gathered to wish them Godspeed, the four started off before the sun had more than tinted the east.  Kelly had offered them anything on the ranch, from himself, his cook and his cowboys, to the choice of his horses.  His guests left as much heartened by his cheerfulness and good will as they were by the actual physical comforts he had given them.