Wayland paused and thought.
"It's all the same whether they did or not . . . now! What was it you said about a man chased by the devil setting a good live pace? They have to find water. They know where water is. We don't! Only safety is to follow."
"Queer how y' keep imaginin' ye hear wimplin' brooks! When A let myself go, A keep hearin' the tinkle o' y'r rills back in the mountains! A keep seein' the blue false water waverin' up to my feet an' recedin' again! Isn't there a fellow in mythology, Wayland, died o' thirst in water because when he reached to drink it, it kept waverin' away?"
"That fellow had travelled in the Desert," answered Wayland.
He aimed his revolver at a green rattlesnake lying under a sage brush. The sun glinted from the steel barrel. The snake coiled and raised its head. "See," said Wayland, "the snake takes aim. The light sort of hypnotizes it. The greenest tenderfoot couldn't miss it."
"How far d' y' call it across?"
"Two to four days straight: eleven to twenty if you take it diagonally. As I make it, they are steering due West for one of the deep cut ways to take 'em South under shade."
"Shade would taste pretty good to me, Wayland."
Wayland looked back at his companion. What he thought, he did not say; but he mounted at once and hastened pace.
"Once we find a spring, we'll travel at night," he said.