The ride from the ranch to the edge of the desert plain was twelve miles, a portion of it over a rugged ridge. To the point where we were to ford the creek was two miles, and there the hired men, pack-mules, and ranch cattle turned off on the Bill Williams Fork route to the Rio Colorado.
Once on the level of the Xuacaxélla our team broke into a brisk trot, and we rolled along with a fair prospect of soon crossing the ninety miles between the Date Creek Mountains and La Paz. Messrs. Gray, Rosenberg, and Hopkins soon turned into a bridle-path which led into a mine. Before taking leave of us Mr. Gray told me that my camping-place for the night would be at the point of the third mountain spur which jutted into the plain from the western range.
We had not travelled long before we realized our misfortune in having smashed our water-keg. Each individual in our party had a three-pint army canteen, which had been filled when we forded the creek in the early dawn. These were to last us until evening through an exceedingly sultry day. Frank, Henry, and I did our best to overcome our desire for water, but the younger boy could not refuse Vic a drink when she looked up with lolling tongue to the canteens.
The men were the greatest sufferers, unless I except their horses. Long before mid-day their canteens were empty, and their mouths so dry that articulation was difficult, and they rarely spoke.
At five o'clock we arrived opposite the third spur, where we found a wand sticking in the ground and holding a slip of paper in its cleft end. It proved to be a note from Baldwin, saying that this was the place to camp, and the Black Tanks were on the southern side of the spur, two miles distant.
We were too thirsty to spend time in examining the scenery. The boys and I were quickly out of the vehicle, the horses and mules were relieved of bridles, saddles, and harness, and all but two men, who were left to guard the property and collect fuel for a fire, were on the way to water. Closely followed by Vic, the boy sergeants and I preceded the men and stock. We passed through a leafless and almost branchless growth of the giant cactus, succeeded by a thick underbrush of mezquit, which put off our view of the height until we turned sharply to the right. Then we saw before us a long irregular range, apparently three thousand feet in height, which had been cleft from summit to base as if by a wedge. In this rent we found water—water deposited in a natural reservoir by the periodical rainfalls in millions of gallons—a reservoir never known to be dry.
Private Tom Clary, bearing a camp-kettle and coffee-pot, had outstripped the men driving the stock, and overtook us as we began the ascent into the cleft. Climbing the dike which enclosed the main deposit, we descended to the cistern, filled our cups, and swallowed the contents without taking a breath. When we dipped up a second, Tom Clary looked into the depths of his cup with knitted brows.
"Whist, now, b'ys!" he exclaimed. "Look into the wather! It's aloive with wigglers of ivery variety. They're as plinty as pays in a soup."
"Ugh! And we are full of them too, Tom," said Henry, looking into his dipper with narrow-eyed anxiety.