"Yes?" said Don, stopping short in his preparations.
"I thought I'd tell you—I have my blaster under my pillow. And I'm a light sleeper. Get that?"
"Yes," said Don coolly. He went on with his bedding. The boy had no intention at all of running away. The desert was his friend, but the most implacable enemy that these city men could hope to find.
Whether or not Pete slept lightly Don didn't know. He awoke snug and warm when dawn was striping the wastelands with rosy hues. As he looked into the horizon he knew that the day would be a blistering one.
The outlaws awoke stiff and lame, barely able to crawl out of their sleeping-bags and not even knowing that they had made the mistake of sleeping on the hard-packing top layer of sand.
By the time they had started and eaten a meager breakfast the outlaws had swilled down a full quart of water apiece. Don wisely contented himself with the moisture to be found in the green food he had packed.
As the full glare of the sun began to strike the scorching sands the two Earthmen began to lag. Don slowed his gait for them. They called for water often; so often that at last he was forced to remind them that they were drinking too much.
Pete glared at him out of his red-rimmed eyes, false geniality gone. "Brat!" he snarled. "You'd like to see us die of thirst, wouldn't you?"
Don didn't answer, and silently gave them water whenever they called for it. By noon both men were suffering from the choking heat. In the early afternoon Pete called a halt, coughing dryly.