Now came another night of anxiety, but also of quiet.  In the morning, when eager eyes looked through the yellow haze of dawn over the plain, not an Apache was to be seen.

“They are gone,” said Coronado to Thurstane, after the two had made the tour of the ruins and scrutinized every feature of the landscape.  “What next?”

Thurstane swept his field-glass around once more, searching for some outlet besides the horrible canon, and searching in vain.

“We must wait a day or so for our wounded,” he said.  “Then we must start back on our old trail.  I don’t see anything else before us.”

“It is a gloomy prospect,” muttered Coronado, thinking of the hundred miles of rocky desert, and of the possibility that Apaches might be ambushed at the end of it.

He had been so anxious about himself for a few days that he had cared for little else.  He had been humble, submissive to Thurstane, and almost entirely indifferent about Clara.

“We ought at least to try something in the way of explorations,” continued the lieutenant.  “To begin with, I shall sound the river.  I shall be thought a devil of a failure if I don’t carry back some information about the topography of this region.”

“Can you paddle your boat against the current?” asked Coronado.

“I doubt it.  But we can make a towing cord of lariats and let it out from the shore; perhaps swing it clear across the river in that way—­with some paddling, you know.”

“It is an excellent plan,” said Coronado.

The day passed without movement, excepting that Texas Smith and two Mexicans explored the canon for several miles, returning with a couple of lame ponies and a report that the Apaches had undoubtedly gone southward.  At night, however, the animals were housed and sentries posted as usual, for Thurstane feared lest the enemy might yet return and attempt a surprise.

The next morning, all being quiet, the Buchanan boat was launched.  A couple of fairish paddles were chipped out of bits of driftwood, and a towline a hundred feet long was made of lariats.  Thurstane further provisioned the cockle-shell with fishing tackle, a sounding line, his own rifle, Shubert’s musket and accoutrements, a bag of hard bread, and a few pounds of jerked beef.

“You are not going to make a voyage!” stared Coronado.

“I am preparing for accidents.  We may get carried down the river.”

“I thought you proposed to keep fast to the shore.”

“I do.  But the lariats may break.”

Coronado said no more.  He lighted a cigarito and looked on with an air of dreamy indifference.  He had hit upon a plan for getting rid of Thurstane.

The next question was, who could handle a boat?  The lieutenant wanted two men to keep it out in the current while he used the sounding line and recorded results.