"Chunky, I can't stand this any longer," cried Tad, suddenly sinking to the ground. "I'm ashamed of myself to give way like this."
Stacy moved around to the sunny side of his companion, placing his own body where it would shade Tad's head from the sun. The fat boy took off his sombrero, unheeding the burning rays that were beating down on his own head, and began to fan Tad with the hat.
"I don't believe I can go any further, Chunky. You are still in fairly good shape and you'll be able to make the camp if you go on. Leave me and make a try for it."
"You—you want me to go on without you? Want me to leave you here to—Say, Tad, do you think I'm that kind of a coyote? I'd thrash you for that if you weren't already properly done up. You'll feel better when night comes and your head gets cooled off. In the morning we'll make another attempt to get out of the Desert Maze. You lie still, now."
Thus admonished, Tad closed his eyes. At last the sun went down, and with its passing, came a breath of refreshing air. They inhaled long and deeply of it. After a little, Stacy got up.
"Where you going?" demanded Tad, opening his bloodshot eyes.
"Going to tie up my dog, then go to bed."
Five minutes later both were sleeping the sleep that comes from utter exhaustion of mind and body.
Stacy awakened first, his eyes opening on the burning blue above him. After a few moments he rolled over on his stomach to gaze at the coyote. Instantly something else attracted his attention. What he saw was a crossed stick on a standard. The whole resembled a cross, standing barely six inches above the ground.
The lad eyed the strange object inquiringly, then wriggled over toward it.