“Yes; but what is it to you, and—­and Mr. Sikes, here?”

Matt grinned.

“Nuthin’ much ter me, or ter—­ter Mr. Sikes—­how’s it sound, Joe?—­’cept maybe a slice o’ coin.  Still there’s reason fer us both ter jump when Bill Lacy whistles.  Enyhow thar ain’t no use a talkin’ ’bout it, fer we’ve got ter do what we’re told.  So let’s shut up.”

“You say you do not know what this all means?”

“No, an’ what’s more, we don’t give a damn.”

“But if I told you it was robbery and murder—–­that you were aiding in the commission of crime!”

“It wouldn’t make a plum bit o’ difference, ma’m,” said Sikes deliberately, “we never reckoned it wus enything else—­so yer might just as well stop hollerin’, fer yer goin’ whar we take yer, an’ ye’ll stay thar till Bill Lacy says yer ter go.  Hit ’em up, Matt; I’m plum’ tired of talkin’.”

The grey dawn came at last, spectral and ghastly, gradually yielding glimpse of the surroundings.  They were travelling steadily south, the horses beginning to exhibit traces of weariness, yet still keeping up a dogged trot.  All about extended a wild, desolate scene of rock and sand, bounded on every horizon by barren ridges.  The only vegetation was sage brush, while the trail, scarcely visible to the eye, would circle here and there among grotesque formations, and occasionally seemed to disappear altogether.  Nowhere was there slightest sign of life—­no bird, no beast, no snake even, crossed their path.  All was dead, silent, stricken with desolation.  The spires and chimneys of rock, ugly and distorted in form, assumed strange shapes in the grey dusk.  It was all grey wherever the eyes turned; grey of all shades, grey sand, grey rocks, grey over-arching sky, relieved only by the soft purple of the sage—­a picture of utter loneliness, of intense desolation, which was a horror.  The eye found nothing to rest upon—­no landmark, no distant tree, no gleam of water, no flash of colour—­only that dull monotony of drab, motionless, and with no apparent end.

Stella stared about at it, and closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight; her head drooped wearily, every nerve giving away before the depressing scene outspread in every direction.  Sikes, watching her slightest movement, seemed to sense the meaning of the action.

“Hell, ain’t it?” he said expressively.  “You know whar we are?”

“No; but I never before dreamed any spot could be so terrible.”

“This is the Shoshone desert; thar ain’t nobody ever comes in yere ‘cept wunst in a while a prospector, maybe, er a band o’ cattle rustlers.  Even the Injuns keep out.”

She lifted her eyes again, shuddering as they swept about over the dismal waste.

“But there is a trail; you could not become lost?”

“Well, yer might call it a trail, tho’ thar ain’t much left of it after a sand storm.  I reckon thar ain’t so many as could follow it any time o’ year, but Matt knows the way all right—­you don’t need to worry none about that.  He’s drove many a load along yere—­hey, Matt?”