Morning dawned bright and beautiful. The day promised to be warm, and, as Elfreda Briggs opened her eyes, her first thought was of snakes; and her next, the sweet, pungent, penetrating fragrance of sage which lay heavy on the morning air. A cautious investigation showed that no serpent had taken refuge in her blanket, whereat Elfreda Briggs heaved a deep sigh of relief.
Sam stood a short distance from her, whiskers standing out, shading his eyes with a hand as he gazed over the surrounding country. He stood straight like an Indian, and Elfreda found herself studying this strange old man of the hills and the desert—studying him with a new interest. He was rather above medium height with the small hips of a rider. His eyes were faintly gray, and his was the lean, strong face of the man of the open, a face that was lined with wrinkles, and as he gazed there was a look of nobility about it that held her fascinated.
The guide turned suddenly and saw her. He smiled and passed a hand over his whiskers.
“What is it, Sam?” questioned Elfreda.
“Mornin’! Nothin’ but a little cloud o’ dust. Might have been made by a hoss or a little wind pocket.”
The Overlanders now began to sit up and rub their eyes.
“Breakfast is nigh ready. That no ’count pard o’ mine is fryin’ the bacon an’ I reckon he’s boiled the coffee till it ain’t fit to feed to coyotes,” observed Sam.
“Do coyotes drink coffee?” questioned Emma, blinking in the strong morning light.
“I reckon they takes somethin’ like that to keep ’em awake nights,” answered Sam, whereat the Overlanders laughed and began throwing off their blankets, all now fully awake.
The camp looked to be a wreck, but a hurried examination revealed that it was not as bad as it looked. There were rents in the flattened tents that would call for the work of the women to repair, and some of the packs had been trampled on by the raiding ponies.