The others moped, or took their turns on the pinnacle to strain their eyes unavailingly into the four corners of the earth--or as much as they could in those directions.
With the going of the sun Applehead and Lite, sitting out their second guard on the pinnacle, discussed seriously the desperate idea of going in the night to the nearest Navajo ranch and helping themselves to what horses they could find about the place.

The biggest obstacle was their absolute ignorance of where the nearest ranch lay.

Not, surely, that half-day's ride back towards Albuquerque, where they had seen but one pony and that a poor specimen of horseflesh.

Another obstacle would be the dogs, which could be quieted only with bullets.
"We might git hold of something to ride," Applehead stated glumly, "an' then agin the chances is we wouldn't git nothin' more'n a scrap on our hands.

'N' I'm tellin' yuh right now, Lite, I ain't hankerin' fer no fuss till I git a hoss under me." "Me either," Lite testified succinctly.