He explained that something had come to the door of our house. He could hear it, but only caught a slight glimpse of it as he raised his head, for it dashed out of sight immediately. It was evidently an animal of some sort, for we found the marks of its feet and claws in the soft earth. Whatever it was we never caught sight of it.
We were now thoroughly awake. The weather had cleared, the sun was shining warmly and my spirits were beginning to rise.
Far off, down the incline of the plain, we could see the spot known as Bonita. Between us and the town all was open, save for some sage bushes here and there dotting the view.
Surely McGill should now be on his way back, but not a sign of him could we see.
We recalled the fact that we were hungry. Bates rummaged in the kit. The net results were a small paper of biscuits and a tin of beef—nothing else.
We ate all the biscuits and half of the beef, collected more firewood, and, at about six o’clock, discovered the team slowly wending its way from Bonita. It was more than an hour before it arrived at our camp.
Another serious matter now confronted us. Either we must stay with our improvised camp or, as McGill suggested, make for Brick Dust Canyon, in the mountain, where lived a frontiersman named James W. Smith, who had a little farm situated on an oasis of productive earth in the midst of this vast wilderness of alkali and sand.
Eventually we decided upon the latter alternative, and succeeded in loading up and making a start.
For a long time we crept upward, no one riding except McGill, in order to relieve the tired animals.
Reaching the summit of the ascent at last, McGill stopped, for we had now to descend into a deep canyon.