"We have a long, hot walk ahead of us to-morrow, unless they come out to look for us, Chunky," averred Tad.
"Yes. And I love to walk," replied Stacy, with droll humor. "Especially when the sun is one hundred and fifty in the shade, or where the shade ought to be. If ever I come down in this baked country again, I'm going to bring that sweet apple tree out of uncle's orchard, even if I have to drag it all over the desert with me."
"Think we'd better make our beds and turn in?" suggested Tad.
"I guess. I'll take a drink of water first; then I'm ready."
In a few moments the plucky lads had stretched out on the still hot ground, without feeling the least fear. They were too self-reliant to feel any fear, and they had passed so many nights in the open that the mysterious darkness of the outside world held no terrors for them. They knew there was nothing to harm them.
Tad was beginning to doze off when Stacy nudged him in the ribs.
"What is it?" asked Tad sharply.
"I think the girl forgot to put a fresh pillow case on my pillow to-day. The pillow feels awful rough."
"Oh, go to sleep. Dream all the funny things you wish to, but don't bother me till daylight."
From that moment until long past midnight the boys slept soundly, neither having moved since he lay down for his night's rest. Even when the coyotes began to howl, off on the desert, the lads merely stirred, only half conscious of what the sound meant. But when the howls gradually drew nearer, Chunky cautiously opened one eye. The night was so dark that he could not see anything about him.