“We ought to come up with Mexican Pete soon,” remarked Ike, when they had trotted along for several miles. “That looks like the wagon over there,” he added, pointing ahead. Jack and his chums could make out a white speck on the trackless waste. As they approached it grew larger, until it evolved itself into the freight wagon.
They halted at it for a meal, and, resting the horses, gave Pete a chance to get some distance ahead of them. Then they resumed their jaunt. It was the middle of the afternoon when Ike, who was in the lead, made a sudden exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jack.
“Mexican Pete’s just ahead,” replied the old plainsman with a worried accent in his voice. “I wonder what he’s stopping for? I told him not to halt until we reached Stinking Spring, where we are to camp for the night.”
“Maybe something’s happened,” suggested Bony.
“I hope not, but it looks so.”
A moment later Tanker Ike had leaped from his horse, and was examining something on the ground. It looked like a small streak of darker sand than any which surrounded it.
“His water tank has sprung a leak!” he exclaimed. “You can see where it’s been running out. That’s why he’s halted to wait for us. Come on, boys; let’s hurry up. I can see trouble ahead.”
They soon reached the driver of the freight wagon. He met them with a rueful face.
“Water mos’ gone,” he said.