The transfer was made, and the two men rode out into the rear desert, urging their animals forward, trusting largely to their natural instinct for guidance.  They would follow the hard sand, and before long the scent of water would as certainly lead them directly toward the spring.  With reins dangling and bodies crouched to escape the blast of the sharp wind, neither spoke as they plunged through the gloom which circled about them like a black wall.

Yet it was not long until dawn began to turn the desert grey, gradually revealing its forlorn desolation.  Westcott lifted his head, and gazed about with wearied eyes, smarting still from the whipping of the sand-grit.  On every side stretched away a scene of utter desolation, unrelieved by either shrub or tree—­an apparently endless ocean of sand, in places levelled by the wind, and elsewhere piled into fantastic heaps.  There were no landmarks, nothing on which the mind could concentrate—­just sand, barren, shapeless, ever-changing form, stretching to the far horizons.  The breeze slackened somewhat as the sun reddened the east, and the ponies threw up their heads and whinnied slightly, increasing their speed.  Westcott saw the marshal arouse himself, straighten in the saddle, and stare about, his eyes still dull and heavy.

“One hell of a view, Jim,” he said disgustedly, “but I reckon we can’t be a great ways from that spring.  We’ve been ridin’ right smart.”

“It’s not far ahead; the ponies sniff water.  Did you ever see anything more dismal and desolate?”

“Blamed if I see how even a Mex can run cattle through here.”

“They know the trails, and the water-holes—­ah! there’s a bunch o’ green ahead; that’ll likely be Badger Springs.”

Assured they were beyond pursuit, the two unsaddled, and turned the ponies out to crop the few handfuls of wire grass which the sweet water bubbling up from a slight depression had coaxed into stunted growth.  There was no wood to be had, although they found evidence of several camp-fires, and consequently they were obliged to content themselves with what they could find eatable in their bag.  It was hardly a satisfying meal, and their surroundings did not tend toward a joyful spirit.  Except for a few sentences neither spoke, until Brennan, having partially satisfied his appetite, produced the note given him by Miss La Rue, and deliberately slashed open the sealed envelope.

“In the name of the law,” he said grimly, hauling out the enclosure.  “Now we’ll see what’s the row.  Holy smoke! it’s in Spanish!  Here, Jim, do you read that lingo?”

“I know words here and there,” and Westcott bent over the paper, his brows wrinkling.  “Let’s see, it’s not quite clear, but the sense is that Mendez will be paid a thousand dollars for something—­I can’t make out what, only it has to do with prisoners.  Lacy says he’ll be there to confer with him some time to-night.”