“It hardly seems possible,” said Alice, as she breathed deeply of the vivifying air, “that in this very spot only a few hours ago we were gasping for breath.

“You can always bank on the nights bein’ cold,” answered Tex, as he proceeded to build the fire.  “We’ll rustle around and get supper out of the way an’ the outfit packed an’ we can pull our freight as soon as it’s light enough.  The moon ought to show up by half-past ten or eleven, an’ we can make the split rock water-hole before it gets too hot for the horses to travel.  It’s the hottest spell for June I ever saw and if she don’t let up tomorrow the range will be burnt to a frazzle.”

Bat cast a weather-wise eye toward the sky which, cloudless, nevertheless seemed filmed with a peculiar haze that obscured the million lesser stars and distorted the greater ones, so that they showed sullen and angry and dull like the malignant pustules of a diseased skin.

“A’m t’ink she gon’ for bus’ loose pret’ queek.”

“Another thunder storm and a deluge of rain?” asked Alice.

The half-breed shrugged:  “I ain’ know mooch ‘bout dat.  I ain’ t’ink she feel lak de rain.  She ain’ feel good.”

“Leave off croakin’, Bat, an’ get to work an’ pack,” growled the Texan.  “There’ll be plenty time to gloom about the weather when it gets here.”  An hour later the outfit was ready for the trail.

“Wish we had one of them African water-bags,” said the cowboy, as he filled his flask at the spring.  “But I guess this will do ’til we strike the water-hole.”

“Where is that whiskey bottle?” asked Endicott.  “We could take a chance on snake-bite, dump out the booze, and use the bottle for water.”

The Texan shook his head:  “I had bad luck with that bottle; it knocked against a rock an’ got busted.  So we’ve got to lump the snake-bite with the thirst, an’ take a chance on both of ’em.”

“How far is the water-hole?” Alice asked, as she eyed the flask that the cowboy was making fast in his slicker.

“About forty miles, I reckon.  We’ve got this, and three cans of tomatoes, but we want to go easy on ’em, because there’s a good ride ahead of us after we hit Split Rock, an’ that’s the only water, except poison springs, between here an’ the old Miszoo.”

Bat, who had come up with the horses, pointed gloomily at the moon which had just topped the shoulder of a mountain.  “She all squash down.  Dat ain’ no good she look so red.”  The others followed his gaze, and for a moment all stared at the distorted crimson oblong that hung low above the mountains.  A peculiar dull luminosity radiated from the misshapen orb and bathed the bad lands in a flood of weird murky light.

“Come on,” cried Tex, swinging into his saddle, “we’ll hit the trail before this old Python here finds something else to forebode about.  For all I care the moon can turn green, an’ grow a hump like a camel just so she gives us light enough to see by.”  He led the way across the little plateau and the others followed.  With eyes tight-shut and hands gripping the saddle-horn, Alice gave her horse full rein as he followed the Texan’s down the narrow sloping ledge that answered for a trail.  Nor did she open her eyes until the reassuring voice of the cowboy told her the danger was past.