"Better than to go walking around here. You see these cattle are more than half wild. They don't often see a footman, and when they have calves, they are dangerous. If you had been mounted, you could have ridden through the bunch and they wouldn't have noticed you."
"Well; we shall have to walk back, apparently." Helen's smile was not wholly spontaneous.
"To God's country? It's a long way." Ralph was smiling at Helen's chagrin.
Helen laughed.
"Perhaps you could show us the way?"
"You would better go down to Pedro's ranch and wait. Our supply wagons will be along shortly, and they will take you to town."
"Young man," Uncle Sid broke in, "you seem to know this country. Is that strip o' damp sand down there, the Christopher Sawyer?"
"The what?" For a moment, Ralph's face was blank astonishment, then he burst into a hearty laugh.
"Oh, the Sangre de Christo! Yes."
"They both mean the same thing. Whew! Helen, I've got another idea about this country. It's a great country for raisin' ideas, if it ain't good for anything else. It's prolific! It would make a stone man think." He paused, fanning himself vigorously. "There ain't any use talkin'; it's great! Soaks thinks full o' fog-water nights, an' then the sun comes out mornin's and boils 'em. If it wasn't for fogs 'twould roast 'em. I don't wonder 'Lige Berl gets a broad view o' Providence. You can get all sorts o' vittles in this country, roasted, boiled and dried. I bet those critters are carryin' around dried beef on their bones right now."