“We sell you two days’ grub,” said John.  “One day north on this trail go two men up to the Canyon, to placer mine.  They’re good men.  I know ’em many years.  They got good outfit, but burros go slow, so you can easy overtake ’em to-day.  You tell ’im you want a job.  Tell ’im John Red Sun send you.  Then you get rested in the desert.  Not good for any white man to go alone and do nothing in the desert.  He’ll go loco.  See?”

Enoch suddenly smiled.  “I do see, yes.  And I must say you’re mighty kind and sensible.  I’ll do as you suggest.  By the way, will you sell me those boots of yours?  I’ll swap you mine and anything you say, beside.  I believe our feet are the same size.”

Red Sun’s brother was wearing Navajo moccasins reaching to the knee, but Red Sun was resplendent in a pair of high laced boots, into which were tucked his corduroy pants.  The Indians both looked at Enoch’s smart Oxford ties with eagerness.  Then without a word, Red Sun began rapidly to unlace his boots.  It would be difficult to say which made the exchange with the greater satisfaction, Enoch or the Indian.  When it was done Enoch, as far as his costume was concerned, might have been a desert miner indeed, looking for a job.

The sun was not over an hour high when Pablo and Enoch started north once more, the little horse loaded with supplies and Enoch loaded with such trail lore as the two Indians could impress upon him in the short time at their command.  Enoch was not deeply impressed by their advice except as to one point, which they repeated so often that it really penetrated his distraught and weary mind.  He was to keep to the trail.  No matter what or whom he thought he saw in the distance, he was to keep to the trail.  If a sand storm struck him, he was to camp immediately and on the trail.  If he needed water, he was to keep to the trail in order to find it.  At night, he must camp on the trail.  The trail!  It was, they made him understand, a tenderfoot’s only chance of life in this section.  And, thus equipped, Enoch rode away into the lonely, shimmering, intriguing morning light of the desert.

He rode all the morning without dismounting.  The trail was very crooked.  It seemed to him at such moments as he took note of this fact, he would save much time by riding due north, but he could not forget the Indian brothers’ reiterated warnings.  And, although he could not throw off a sense of being driven, the desire to arrive somewhere quickly, still he was strangely content to let Pablo set the pace.

At noon he dismounted, fed Pablo half the small bag of oats John had given him, and ate the cold bacon and biscuits John’s brother had urged on him.  There was no water for the horse, but Enoch drank deeply from the canteen and allowed Pablo an hour’s rest.  Then he mounted and pushed on, mindful of the necessity of overtaking the miners.