"Yes?" urged Grace.
"I hate it, I fight it—and I win," added the guide in a tone that was almost triumphant. "Yet, I'd rather be out there where the starving coyotes howl the night through, where the great, gaunt gray wolves loom up in the night seeking what they may kill and eat, or where a step in the dark may be your last should you tread on a desert rattler. I'd rather be there and face all of that, and the peril of dying from thirst, than be anywhere else in the world," he concluded, and then lapsed into silence.
"I understand, Mr. Lang. It is the lure of the desert that appeals to you, though none knows better than you the perils that lurk there for the unwary traveler. I hope and believe that I may feel as you do about it."
"You will, and so will Miss Briggs. I am not so certain about the others."
"When you get to know us better, Mr. Lang, you will find that, though some of us complain and fret, all are true blue."
"Humph! Beckon I know something about that myself. What I saw to- day shows me that I don't have to worry about you and Miss Briggs. Did you know that Ike Fairweather wrote me a long letter about you folks!"
Grace looked her interest.
"Yes. Ike said I'd have my hands full, and that you folks would trot a pace that would make my legs weary trying to keep up with you. Said you weren't afraid of anything that walked, crept or crawled."
Grace laughed merrily.
"Mr. Fairweather is mistaken. I am terribly shy of snakes and— and—well, I don't know what else" she added lamely.