They went at it with a will, glad to have something clearly defined before them, Brennan in his slow, efficient way, but Westcott, eager and hopeful, spurred on by his memory of the girl, whose rescue was the sole object which had brought him there.  The team was driven into the security of the sand drifts and unhitched.  The saddles were taken from the backs of the ponies, and what grain Moore had in the wagon was carefully apportioned among the four animals.  Satisfied these would not stray, the men looked carefully to their supply of ammunition and set forth on their tramp.

This proved a harder journey than either Brennan or Westcott had anticipated, for Moore led off briskly, taking a wide circle, until a considerable ridge concealed their movements from the south.  The sand was loose, and in places they sank deeply, their feet sliding back and retarding progress.  All three were breathing heavily from the exertion when, under protection of the ridge, they found better walking.

Even here, however, the way was treacherous and deceiving, yet they pressed forward steadily, following the twists and turns of the pile of sand on their right.  The distance seemed more than three miles, but at last Moore turned sharply and plunged into what resembled a narrow ravine through the ridge.  Here they struggled knee deep in the sand, but finally emerged on the very rim overlooking the valley.

So perfectly was it concealed they were within ten feet of the edge before the men, their heads bent in the strenuous effort to advance, even realised its immediate presence.  They halted instantly, awestruck, and startled into silence by the wonder of that scene outspread below.  Moore grinned as he noted the surprise depicted on their faces, and waved his hand.

“Yer better lie down an’ crawl up ter the edge,” he advised.  “Some hole, ain’t it?”

“I should say so,” and Westcott dropped to his knees.  “I never dreamed of such a place.  Why it looks like a glimpse into heaven from this sand.  Dan, ain’t this an eye-opener?”

“It sure is,” and the marshal crept cautiously forward.  “Only it’s devils who’ve got possession.  Look at them cattle up at the further end; they don’t look no bigger than sheep, but there’s quite a bunch of ’em.  What’s that down below, Matt?  Houses, by Jingo!  Well, don’t that beat hell?—­all the comforts of home.”

“Two big cabins,” explained Moore, rather proud of his knowledge.  “Carted the logs in from ol’ Baldy, more’n forty miles.  One is the bunk-house; the other is whar Mendez stops when the ol’ cuss is yere.  Creep up a bit an’ I’ll show yer how the trail runs.  Don’t be afeerd; nobody kin see yer from down below.”

“All right, son, where is it?”

“It starts at the foot o’ that boulder,” indicating with his finger, “an’ goes along the shelf clear to the end; then thar’s a drop ov maybe five feet to that outcroppin’ o’ rock just below.  It’s wider than it looks to be from yere.  After that yer can trace it quite a spell with yer eyes, kinder sidlin’ ter the left, till yer come to that dead root ov a cedar.  Then thar’s a gap or two that ain’t over easy, an’ a slide down ter another shelf.  Yer can’t miss it, cause there’s no other way ter go.”