"Yes."
"Rain?" questioned Grace innocently.
The guide grinned. "Nothing like that in these parts. Wind, Mrs. Gray. I reckon you'll meet one enemy that you can't drive off, before this night comes to an end. We better have chow now, then make the camp as secure as possible. Shall you tell the others?" he asked, nodding toward the Overland girls, who, after their exciting battle, were chattering and laughing as they assisted Ping Wing to prepare the supper.
"Yes. After we eat. They should know," replied Grace. "You see they are not at all upset over what occurred."
By the time they had finished supper, which had been eaten amid much teasing and laughter, some one discovered that the stars, before so near and brilliant, were now only faintly discernible, a veil of thin mist having intervened between them and the baking desert.
Elfreda Briggs regarded the overcast sky for a moment, then turned inquiringly to the guide.
"Fog?" she asked.
"No. Bad storm. Better go to bed with your clothes on to-night," advised the guide.
"Is it so serious as that, Mr. Lang?"
"It may be. Nobody can figure on anything on this desert—storms, water, everything here is as contrary as an outlaw bronco. Better turn in soon and have the others do the same, for you may not have long to sleep to-night."