They walked their horses now. Behind them was no dust, but pursuit was certain. It was the Indians who worried them, for fifty dollars was a lot of money to an Indian. Two hundred dollars for them all.
The air wavered and changed before them, seeming to flow and billow with heat waves. On their right was the Gila Range, and the desert grew more rugged. Otteson watched when Rydberg drank, when he passed his hand over his bare skull, saw him put water on his head. Otteson was complacent, confident.
Isager's mouth was dry, but he did not touch the canteen. A mere swallow at dusk could do more good than a bucket now. He watched the others with cat eyes. Rydberg took another pull. The heat baked the desert and reflected in their faces like heat from a hot stove. Twice they stopped for rest, and each time it was Otteson and Isager who stopped in what little shade there was. Rydberg swayed as he dismounted.
'Hot!' he gasped. 'How much further to water?'
'Not far.' Otteson looked at Rydberg's horse. It was the best.
Isager took water from his canteen and wiped out his horse's mouth and nostrils. Rodelo thought this was a good idea and did likewise.
'Let's wait until dark,' Rydberg suggested. 'I'm hot. My head aches. That sun is killing me.'
'You want to get caught by them Injuns? Or them laws from Yuma?'
They moved on, and Rydberg's skull was pocked with sun blisters. The dust grew thicker, the air was dead, the desert a pink and red reflector for the sun. Rydberg swayed drunkenly, and Rodelo swore mentally and reflected that it must be 120 degrees or more.
Rydberg began to mutter. He pulled at his dry canteen. He tried again, shook it, and there was no sound. Otteson looked straight before him. Isager said nothing, and only' Rodelo looked around as the man swayed drunkenly in his saddle.
'I'm out of water,' Rydberg said. 'How about a drink?'
'On the desert,' Otteson said, 'each man drinks his own water. You'll have to wait.'
The dust and sun and thirst turned their world into a red hell of heat waves and blurred blue mountains. The hooves of their horses dragged. Rydberg muttered, and once he croaked a snatch of song. He mumbled through thin, cracked lips, and the weird face above the scraggly neck became even more buzzard like His skull was fiery red now, and it bobbed strangely as he weakened. Suddenly he shouted hoarsely and pointed off across the desert.
'Water!' he gabbled. 'Water, over there!'
'Mirage,' Rodelo said, and the others were silent, riding.
'Gimme a drink.' Rydberg rode at Otteson and grabbed at his canteen.
The big man moved his horse away, striking at the skinny hand. 'Go to hell,' he said coldly.
Rydberg grabbed at him, lost balance, and fell heavily into the sand. He struggled to get up, then fell again.
Rodelo looked at him. His own canteen was empty. 'The damn fool,' Isager said, 'why didn't he get him a hat?'
Nobody else spoke. Then Otteson reached for the canteen on Rydberg's horse, but Isager was closer and unhurriedly appropriated it. He also took the rifle. 'Take the horse if you like,' he said, 'you're a heavy man.'
Otteson glared at Isager, and Rodelo moved in and took the gold. 'Are you going to leave him here like that?' he demanded.
Otteson shrugged. 'He asked for it.'
'He wouldn't live until night,' Isager said. 'Stay if you want.'
Rodelo drew Rydberg into the shade of an ironwood tree. Then he mounted and followed. Why had they grabbed the empty canteen and the rifle when they could have gotten their hands on Rydberg's share of the gold?
A thin shadow of doubt touched him. Then the answer was plain and he cursed himself for a fool. Nearly two hundred gold coins he now carried, and it was considerable weight. They preferred that he carry the extra gold until ... his jaw set hard, but within him there was a cold shock of fear.
They thought he was going to die! They thought He'd show them. From deep within him came a hard burning defiance. He'd show them.
It had been midafternoon when they left Rydberg. It was two hours later when they came up to Coyote Peak. Otteson was studying the rocks around and suddenly he turned sharply left and rode into an arroyo. Twenty minutes later they stood beside the tinaja.
Despair mounted within Rodelo. It was only a hollow of rock with a few gallons of water in the bottom. They filled their canteens, then watered the horses. When the horses had finished the water was gone.
'We'll rest a few hours,' Isager suggested, 'then go on after dark.'
Isager ignored the shade and lay down on his side with his face toward the two men and his weapons and water close behind him.
Rodelo found a spot in soft sand, well back in the shadow of the rocks. He stared at the others and thought exhaustion had made them stupid. Both had relaxed upon hard, rocky ground. The least move would awaken them. They would get no rest that way. While this was soft sand.... He relaxed luxuriously.
He awakened with a start. It was cold, dark, and silent. With sudden panic, he sprang to his feet. 'Isager!' he shouted. 'Ott!' And the desert gave back only echoes. He felt for his canteen, and it was gone. He ran to where his horse had been picketed, and it, too, was gone.
He had slept and they had left him. They had taken the gold, the horse, the canteen ... only his pistol remained. He had that only because they had reared to awaken him.
He rushed to a rise of ground, scrambled, slipped on the rocks, and skinned his knees. Then he got to the top and stared off to the southeast. All he could see was the soft, velvety darkness, the cool of the desert night, and the unspeaking stars.
He was alone.
For the first time he was frightened. He was horribly, unspeakably frightened. Rodelo hated being alone, he feared loneliness, and he knew the power of the desert to kill.
Then his fear left him, his thoughts smoothed out and the panic ended. They could not move fast without knowing the country better than they did. They would travel at a walk, and if they did, he might overtake them. He was younger than either, and he was strong. He had never found a trial that could test his endurance.
A glance at the stars told him they could have no more than an hour's start. How much would that mean at night in unfamiliar desert? Three miles? Five miles?
Doubt came. Could he make up the distance? They would never suspect pursuit. Suppose the day came and he was still without water? But what would waiting gain? This was not a spring, and the tinaja was empty.
He could wait for death, or for capture on the verge of death, or he could fight. He returned to the tinaja and found perhaps a cup of water in the bottom. He thrust his head into the basin and sucked it up. Then he straightened, glanced at the stars for direction, and struck out for the southeast, walking steadily.
Otteson and Isager rode side by side. Each man led a horse, and on those horses were the gold sacks. The issue between them was clear now. Isager knew he was faster with a gun, and Otteson knew it also. Therefore, the big man would wait for a moment when the killing was a sure thing.
Neither man mentioned Rydberg nor Rodelo. It was like Otteson to ignore what was past. Isager thought of Rodelo with regret he had liked the younger man, but this was a matter of survival. They walked their horses, careful not to tire them. Once, encountering a nest of boulders, they circled some distance to get past them. Over the next two hours this allowed Rodelo to gain considerable ground.
The first day netted them sixty miles of distance but twenty of it had been up the Gila for the gold, and the next forty angling toward the border. Daylight found them near the border and Otteson looked back. Nothing but heat waves. 'They'll be coming,' Isager said. 'They'll find Rydberg by the buzzards. Then they'll find Rodelo. That gives them a line on us even if they don't find our trail.'
Ahead of them on their right was a cluster of mesas, on their left ahead high and blue on the horizon, the bulk of Pinacate, a fifteen-mile-long ridge that towered nearly five thousand feet into the brassy sky.
The coolness left the desert as the sun lifted. Both men knew the folly of haste. Moreover they had each other to' watch. Neither wanted to go ahead, and this slowed their pace. Isager wished it had been Otteson back there rather than Rodelo. He had seen the big man get to his feet and had done likewise. Both had chosen stony ground, as a sound sleep might be their last sleep. Otteson had saddled up, glanced at the sleeping man, and then
