"And Wardell is a mighty fine chap," went on Dick. "Of course that day when Paul and I saw him on the railroad bank he had sort of lost his nerve. You can't blame him for that. I'm not a bit sorry over what I'm trying to do for him."
"Oh, no, of course not. Only it's a lot of trouble for a stranger."
"Well, I'm not doing it altogether for him," said Dick. "I'm thinking of the honor of our family. I wouldn't want it said that any of my relatives ruined a man, even if it was legal."
"Good for you!" cried Paul. "Say, the trail is leading us back toward the railroad, I think."
"Yes, it does come near the line about here," agreed Dick, as he consulted a map. "So much the better. We may strike a water tank. Our supply isn't any too large."
The big car slowly made its way over the desert. They were not trying for any speed, since the clinging sand made progress difficult, and they did not want to put too much of a strain on the wheels and motor.
It seemed to get hotter as they proceeded, though the breeze of the electric fan in the car was grateful. But even the air in motion seemed to come out of some oven, laden with the smell of baking earth.
"Whew!" exclaimed Paul, when they had gone on about a mile further, and had come in sight of the railroad. "Take her a while, Innis. My hands are tired from trying to hold the wheel steady. She wabbles a lot."
"I'll guide," said Dick.
"No, let me," urged his other chum, so he was given charge.