He turned toward the stalwart figure that lay on the shadowy rock beyond the fire.

“Better than I deserve, Judge,” replied Milton.

“What luck, Judge?” cried Harden, who had been watching a game of poker between Agnew and Forrester.

“My Lawdy Lawd!” shouted Jonas, emptying the gunny sack on the rock which served as table.

There was a chorus of surprise.

“What happened, Judge!  Did you eat the rest raw?”

“A goat, by Jove!  Where on earth did it come from?”

“What difference does that make?  Get it into the pot, Jonas, for the love of heaven!”

“As a family provider, Judge, you are to be highly recommended.”

Enoch squatted against Milton’s rock and complacently lighted his pipe, then told his story.

“There are goats still here, then!  I wish we’d see some,” said Milton, when Enoch had finished.

“But what would they live on?” asked Enoch.

“That’s easy,” replied Milton.  “There are hidden canyons and gulches in this Colorado country that are veritable little paradises, with all the verdure any one could ask for.”

“Wish we could locate one,” sighed Forrester.

“That wouldn’t help me much,” grunted Milton.

“What luck with the Ida?” Enoch turned to Agnew who, next to Jonas, took the greatest interest in ship repair and building.

“The forward compartment was pretty well smashed, but another hour’s work in the morning will make the old girl as good as ever.”

“She’ll never be the boat the Na-che was,” groaned Jonas mournfully from his fire.  “What are we all going to do now, with just one boat?”

For a moment no one spoke, then Enoch said drily, “Well, Jonas, seeing that you and I don’t really belong to the expedition anyhow and that we invited ourselves, I think it’s up to us to walk.”

There was a chorus of protests at this.  But Enoch silenced the others by saying with great earnestness: 

“Milton, you know I’m right, don’t you?”

Milton, who had been saying nothing, now raised himself on his elbow.

“Two of you fellows will have to walk it; which two we’d better decide by lot.  We’re up against a rotten situation.  It would be bad, even if I weren’t hurt.  But with a cripple on your hands, well—­it’s awful for you chaps!  Simply awful!”

“With good luck, and no Survey work, how many days are we from the Ferry?” asked Enoch.

“Between four and five, is what Milton and I calculated this afternoon,” replied Harden.

“What’s the nearest help by way of land?”

“There’s a ranch, about eighty miles south of here.  I guess the traveling would be about as bad as anybody would hope for.  The fellows that go out have got to be used to desert work, like me.”  Harden scratched a match and by its unsteady light scrutinized the detail map spread open on his knee.