Frank made the signal, and the others understood, for they soon turned toward the mountains again.
Then Merriwell aided Jack in mounting and getting started, mounting himself after that, and hurrying after the Virginian, whose wheel was making a very crooked track across the sand.
When it was necessary Frank supported Jack with a hand on the arm of the dark-faced lad, speaking encouraging words into his ear, urging him on.
And thus they rode toward the barren-looking Desert Range, where they must find water or death.
They came to the mountains at last, when the burning sun was hanging a ball of fire in the western sky. From a distance Merriwell had singled out Split Peak, which had served as his guide. At the foot of Split Peak were two water-holes, one on the east and one on the south.
First Frank sought for the eastern water-hole, and he found it.
But it was dry!
Dry, save for the slightest indication of moisture in the sand at the bottom of the hole.
“I told you so!” gasped Diamond, as he fell to the ground in hopeless exhaustion. “There is no water here.”
“Wait,” said Frank, hoarsely. “We’ll see if we can find some. Come, boys; we must scoop out the sand down there in the hole—we must dig for our lives.”