The red pools in Blazing Star highway were soon dried up in the fervent June sun and riotous night winds of those altitudes.

The ephemeral grasses that had quickly supplanted these pools and the chocolate-colored mud, were as quickly parched and withered.

The footprints of spring became vague and indefinite, and were finally lost in the impalpable dust of the summer highway.
In one of his long, aimless excursions, Cass had penetrated a thick undergrowth of buckeye and hazel, and found himself quite unexpectedly upon the high road to Red Chief's Crossing.

Cass knew by the lurid cloud of dust that hid the distance, that the up coach had passed.

He had already reached that stage of superstition when the most trivial occurrence seemed to point in some way to an elucidation of the mystery of his treasure.