“You’ve hit it, old man,” exclaimed the other confidently.  “That’s exactly how I had it doped out.  He’d have to use that swale, or go ten miles farther east.  I never was at Badger myself, but I’ve travelled that ridge road some, with my eyes open.  Then, I take it, that our course is already laid out pretty straight as far as them springs.  Beyond there the general lay of the land may help us, and I aim to reach that point along about daylight.  Accordin’ to Miss La Rue—­she’s that blond female I seen at the hotel, ain’t she—­Cassady was expected to reach this place where Mendez is about dawn, if he had to kill his hoss to do it.  That would mean some considerable of a ride, I reckon.”

“And yet,” put in Westcott, with increasing interest, “would seem naturally to limit the spot to within a radius of ten miles from Badger Springs.”

“Likely enough—­yes; either south, southeast, or southwest; what sort o’ country is it?”

“Absolutely barren; a desolate waste as far as the eye can see, except that range of mountains away to the south, fifty miles or more off.  It would be a dead level, except for the sand-hills; that’s all the memory I’ve got of it.”

“Well, thar’s allers some landmark to a trail, an’ I used ter be a pretty fair tracker.  Speed yer hoss up a bit, Jim; we’ve got to ride faster than this.”

“How about the note she gave you?”

“We’ll wait a while to read that.  I don’t want to strike no light just yet.  Maybe it had best be kept till daybreak.”

The men rode steadily, and mostly in silence, a large part of the way side by side.  The animals they bestrode were fairly mated, quite capable of maintaining their gait for several hours, and needing little urging.  The night air was cool, and a rather stiff breeze swept over the wide extent of desert, occasionally hurling spits of loosened sand into their faces, and causing them to ride with lowered heads.  The night gloom enveloped them completely; their strained eyes were scarcely able to trace the dim outlines of the ridge road, but the horses were desert broke, and held closely to the beaten track, Before they arrived at the lone cottonwood, Westcott’s pony, which carried by far the heavier load, began to show signs of fatigue.  They drew up here, and the marshal dismounted, searching about blindly in the darkness.

“Too damn dark,” he said, coming back, and catching up his rein.  “A cat couldn’t find anything there; but there’s firm sand.  Wait a minute; I’ve got a pocket compass.”

He struck a match, sheltering the sputtering blaze with one hand.  The light illuminated his face for an instant, and then went out, leaving the night blacker than before.

“That’s south,” he announced, snapping the compass-case shut, “and this blame wind is southeast; that ought to keep us fairly straight.”

“The ponies will do that; they’ll keep where the travelling is good.  Shift this bag back of your saddle, Dan.  You ride lighter, and my horse is beginning to pant already; that will ease him a few pounds.”