“This is funny, Captain, because we never felt stiff or sore when we first started on the trail at Raton,” remarked Julie.
“And the three green Tenderfeet—they never seemed to mind the riding at all; but now look at them limping around like ‘Mrs. Jarley’s Wax Works,’” commented Joan.
“I know why!” said Hester. “Lo said it was the aftermath of living at such altitudes in New Mexico, and now coming to lower levels once more.”
The scouts slept out on the open desert that night, the soft purplish-blue sky seeming to come down to blanket them, and the stars apparently near enough to be reached and their light switched off, as one does to the electric lights in a Pullman berth.
But shortly after midnight the air became so cold that Tally and Lo got up to build a fire, around which the shivering scouts could crowd, and finally go to sleep again.
After an early breakfast, where the hot coffee proved to be the most acceptable item on the menu, the scout-party resumed the ride across the Desert.
They were about ten miles along the trail when Lo reined in his horse and consulted with Tally in a low tone. The two dashed their horses up to the crest of a rock and gazed anxiously across the waste to the lavender-tinted horizon.
“Shure’s shootin’ he’em comin’,” said Tally to his companion.
The scouts had halted their horses to see and hear why the guides had acted so strangely.
“Lo say one big sand-storm blow up. We get ready queek for he’em. Scouts get goggles and caps out of bags, ’en we ride far as we can get to rocks ahead,” said Tally, as soon as he came within hearing.