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Jerry recognized the type at once. It was a desert rat, one of those old men who, lured by the dream of gold, haunt the desert, usually alone. Years pass over their heads in the search which never ends. At last the gold mine that they will find some day becomes merely the excuse not the aim of the unending pilgrimage. The desert, the loneliness is claiming them. If they found a mine worth the developing, probably they would sell it and blow in the proceeds and be off again as soon as possible. They have been too long away from civilization for anything to surprise them. The desert is mysterious, the loneliness makes everything possible. “Was it—was it some strange Mexicans?” asked Ted excitedly. The following night, just as Bob was about to turn in, Ted Hoyt knocked at his door. Evidently Ted had come in a hurry, for he was covered with dust and was breathing hard..
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“Gee whiz!” ejaculated Bob. “This is worse than anything I’ve tackled before—ever!” “We’ve just got time to make it,” said Jerry. “That was sent three days ago and right now Mr. Whitney ought to be pulling out of Kansas City. We’ll catch the local out and be there just before he arrives.” Noon still found them ascending and they ate their lunch and hurried on. It was sizzling. There were some trees, but these were few and far between. Most of the footing was sandy and made hard walking. Owing to these conditions it was not until after nightfall that they saw the first sign of civilization. Bob was in the lead and was the first to see a reflection on the horizon. The umbrella and the boat were soon procured and the boys started out. First they rowed in very proper fashion past the Tongue—a rather high point of land; but when they were well hidden by this point, they pulled in the oars and put up the umbrella in a flash..
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