In this brown sea all trace of the trail was lost from the saddle and both men dismounted.
Foot by foot they followed the faint signs ahead of them, while over their backs the sun rose higher and began to burn with the dry furnace-like heat that had scorched the prairies.

So slow was their progress that after a time Billinger straightened himself with a nervous curse.

The perspiration was running in dirty streaks down his face.
Before he had spoken Philip read the fear that was in his eyes and tried to hide the reflection of it in his own.

It was too hot to smoke, but he drew forth a case of cigarettes and offered one to Billinger.

The agent accepted one, and both lighted in silence, eying each other over their matches.
"Won't do," said Billinger, spitting on his match before tossing it among the grass.