We had packed our water for camp use.
"You take the first watch to-night," said Jones to me after supper.
"The mustangs might try to slip by our fire in the night and we must keep a watch or them.

Call Wallace when your time's up.

Now, fellows, roll in." When the pink of dawn was shading white, we were at our posts.

A long, hot day--interminably long, deadening to the keenest interest--passed, and still no mustangs came.

We slept and watched again, in the grateful cool of night, till the third day broke.
The hours passed; the cool breeze changed to hot; the sun blazed over the canyon wall; the stones scorched; the flies buzzed.