“Yes,” she replied.
Jack was amused, for Dave insisted that he had been next to the Indian, and Billy claimed priority to all of them. To these men bred on the desert keen sight was preeminently the chief of gifts.
“Jack, look sharp!” said August. “Peon is blanketing his fire. See the flicker? One, two—one, two—one. Now for the answer.”
Jack peered out into the shadowy space, star-studded above, ebony below. Far across the depths shone a pinpoint of steady light. The Indian grunted again, August vented his “ha!” and then Jack saw the light blink like a star, go out for a second, and blink again.
“That's what I like to see,” said August. “We're answered. Now all's over but the work.”
Work it certainly was, as Jack discovered next day. He helped the brothers cut down cedars while August hauled them into line with his roan. What with this labor and the necessary camp duties nearly a week passed, and in the mean time Black Bolly recovered from her lameness.
Twice the workers saw Silvermane standing on open high ridges, restive and suspicious, with his silver mane flying, and his head turned over his shoulder, watching, always watching.
“It'd be worth something to find out how long that stallion could go without water,” commented Dave. “But we'll make his tongue hang out to-morrow. It'd serve him right to break him with Black Bolly.”
Daylight came warm and misty; veils unrolled from the desert; a purple curtain lifted from the eastern crags; then the red sun burned.
Dave and Billy Naab mounted their mustangs, and each led another mount by a halter.