"Starting at twelve o'clock, you will begin firing a rifle to help guide the boys in. Fire a shot every five minutes. No chance to get lost at all. Do you think so, Professor?"
"It would seem not. Did I not know from past experiences how easy it is for the boys to get into trouble, I should not hesitate an instant."
"Anyway, we've got to do it. We are at a point where we shall have to take chances. We are taking some as it is. Now, hurry your breakfast. I'll fix up the signal pole while you are doing so, then we'll be off as soon as you have finished."
Both Tad and Ned were enthusiastic and anxious to show themselves capable of taking a man's part in the proposed operations.
"If Chunky only had a fountain pen now all this trouble would be unnecessary," teased Ned as they were hurrying through their breakfast.
The fat boy's soulful eyes held an expression of mild protest, but he made no reply.
The meal finished, Tad and Ned brought out their rifles, which they loaded, taking with them a box of cartridges each. The guide did the same. The flagpole had been planted and from its top fluttered a pair of pink pajamas belonging to the Professor.
"That ought to scare all the coyotes off the desert," commented Ned as the party surveyed the result of the guide's work.
"It will serve still another purpose," grinned the guide. "Some traveler may see it. In that event he'll head for it, thinking it's some one in distress. If he does, you may be able to get a few drops of water from his canteen, providing it's not as empty as our own."
"Oh, how dry I am," whistled Ned softly.