Nobody could answer him. The question seemed a surprise to Gale, and evidently was so to the others.
"Look at that cactus," went on Ladd.
Near the wall of lava a stunted saguaro lifted its head. A few shriveled blossoms that had once been white hung along the fluted column.
"I reckon according to that giant cactus it's somewheres along the end of March," said Jim Lash, soberly.
"Shore it's April. Look where the sun is. An' can't you feel it's gettin' hot?"
"Supposin' it is April?" queried Lash slowly.
"Well, what I'm drivin' at is it's about time you all was hittin' the trail back to Forlorn River, before the waterholes dry out."
"Laddy, I reckon we'll start soon as you're able to be put on a hoss."
"Shore that 'll be too late."
A silence ensued, in which those who heard Ladd gazed fixedly at him and then at one another. Lash uneasily shifted the position of his lame leg, and Gale saw him moisten his lips with his tongue.