A STARTLING ALARM
Elfreda Briggs and Grace Harlowe did not give way to the panic
that had seized their companions. Both had seen the mirage, each
knew instinctively what it was, but when they saw Hi Lang overhaul
the two leaders, Grace and Elfreda hurried in from their positions
and joined their companions.
"Grace! Oh, Grace," moaned Emma as her friend rode up to them.
"Give me water or I shall die."
"Have courage, Emma dear. We are all suffering from thirst. Hand
me your cup and I will give you a swallow. I don't dare trust you
with the canteen."
Grace poured out about a tablespoonful of water, which Emma drank
in one choking gulp. Each of the others got about the same
quantity, but it was not much of a relief.
"Shall I return to my position now, sir?" questioned Grace of the
guide. "Yes, please. I have told the others to do so at once.
Hereafter, in no circumstances are you people to run away as you
did just now. We must go on as rapidly as is consistent, until
dark. I wish to reach a certain point before we stop for the
night. We may find some relief there unless the storm has buried
everything so deep that we cannot find the place," said Hi Lang.
"Do you mean water?" asked Elfreda.
"I am in hopes that it may be so, Miss Briggs."
"Alors! Let's go!"
The party broke up at once and rode to their positions, Emma Dean,
red of face, her hair down her back, tear drops still trickling
down her cheeks, leaving little furrows behind them, summoning all
her courage and doing her best to regain control of herself.
The mirage had disappeared by the time the start was made, and did
not appear again to tantalize the suffering Overland Riders. All
the rest of the afternoon, eager eyes, reddened by the glare of
the sun on the white desert, sought for water holes. None were
found, not even dry tanks, but when darkness settled over the
desert a faint breeze sprung up. They drank it in eagerly, taking
long, deep breaths and uttering sighs of satisfaction.
Hi called the party together with a signal shot.
"How long before we make camp?" called Grace as she rode up.
"About five miles if my reckoning is right," answered the guide.
"No need to look for water holes now that it is dark. We shan't
find any unless we accidentally fall into one."
"You are about the most cheerful prophet I've ever known,"
declared Lieutenant Wingate. "Glad you weren't with us in the
war."
"At least, Mr. Lang has made good all his forecasts. You must
admit that," reminded Miss Briggs.
"He has, bad luck to him!" growled Hippy, which brought a grin to
the thin, bronzed face of the desert guide.
It was nearly ten o 'clock when Hi finally ordered a halt. The
Riders, upon looking about them, observed that there was
considerable vegetation there, sage, cactus, dwarfed trees and
shrubbery, scattered, twisted, misshapen things, all of them.
"Turn the ponies loose immediately," directed the guide. "They
will get a little moisture from the green stuff. Never mind
staking down. They will not run away. Ping, start a fire and cook
something. Sorry, folks, but it will have to be a dry supper this
time."
"Where is that relief you were promising us a century or so ago?"
demanded Nora Wingate.
"Yes, Mr. Lang. We have been patient and borne our thirst
uncomplainingly. Now, we MUST have relief. I don't want a dry
supper, I want water!" cried Emma.
Anne said she feared that she too had about reached her limit.
"Be patient, girls. Mr. Lang is doing the best he can," urged
Grace.
"Yes, don't we know that?" agreed Miss Briggs. "He is splendid. I
hope these unsolicited compliments do not turn your head, Mr.
Lang," teased Elfreda.
The guide laughed silently.
"Come with me. We can pitch our tents later on," he directed,
striding away. He led them through mesquite bushes, finally
halting before a patch of odd, pumpkin-shaped cactus, that, with
its grotesque shape, its spines and fishhooks, was far from being
attractive-looking.
Hi's knife was out as he halted, and, with it, he laid open a
cactus plant, revealing to the eager eyes of his charges a silver-
white pulp glistening with water.
"This will relieve your thirst," he said, handing the white, moist
mass to Emma.
"Oh--h--h--h!" gasped Miss Dean. "This is heavenly."
To each of the others Hi gave a handful of pulp.
"Nectar straight from Heaven," murmured Elfreda at her first
taste. "Who would think that so much heavenliness could come from
such a hideous plant, so hideous that, were I alone, it would give
me the shivers to look at?"
Uttering exclamations of satisfaction and delight, the Overland
girls ate and ate, soothing their throats and satisfying their
thirst.
"Please tell us what this is, Mr. Lang," asked Grace.
"It is the bisnaga, sometimes called the 'niggerhead,' belonging
to the cactus family, a plant that is ever hailed with joy by the
thirsty traveler."
"It's a life saver," agreed Lieutenant Wingate. "Where is that
Chinaman? Doesn't he ever get thirsty?"
"Don't worry about him. He is out there in the bushes now,
swallowing 'niggerheads' as fast as he can gulp them down. This is
one of the secrets of the desert. There are others--but a man must
know them before he can take advantage of them."
"Tell us about them. I just dote on secrets," exclaimed Emma, her
good nature now fully restored.
"They might answer for an emergency, but nothing short of real
food would answer for me," declared Hippy.
"Just the same a man might live on what we see before us here for
a long time," replied the guide. "If you will examine those
mesquite bushes you will find a bean pod on them. It is a rich and
nourishing food. Then there are the pears of the tuna and the
fruit of the sahuaro or giant cactus."
"We saw a forest of them on the Apache Trail," Grace informed him.
"Yes, I know. You will find all of these nourishing foods about
you here, hideous, some of them, but furnishing food and water
that have saved the lives of many desert travelers.
"Besides these food plants of the desert, we have the cat's-claw,
mesquite and cholla shrubs for fuel; the bear-grass and yuccas for
camp-building. Better than a mirage, is it not, Miss Dean?"
Emma flushed.
"I don't know about that. The sight of that lake that wasn't a
lake made me forget for the moment that I was thirsty," answered
Emma spiritedly.
The Chinaman's shrill call for supper sounded while they were
still talking. The girls, now greatly refreshed, turned campward
and sat down on the ground to eat "poisoned pig," as Hippy Wingate
had named the bacon with its bitter alkaline taste.
"I fear we are forgetting that we still are without water,"
reminded Grace after they had finished their supper, feeling more
like themselves than at any time in the last two days.
"Don't throw a monkey-wrench in the machinery," begged Hippy.
"Let's live while the living is good, and die when we haven't
anything else to do."
"Grace is quite right," agreed Anne. "I am worrying about to-
morrow myself."
"I have been thinking it over," spoke up Hi Lang. "I believe I
will go out early in the morning and ride until noon. I can cover
a lot of ground in that time, and if I do not find water, the
chances are against our getting any in the direction we are going.
In that event we will head for the mountains and fight our way
through. I never knew so many water holes to fail, but the storm
is largely responsible for that condition."
"Why didn't we bring an artesian well with us? I have heard that
one could have water anywhere with one of those. Are they very
heavy to carry?" asked Emma innocently.
A shout greeted her question, and the guide brushed a hand across
his mouth to hide his silent laughter.
"What's the matter? Have I said something funny?" demanded Emma,
bristling.
"That would be impossible," answered Hippy. "No, Emma Dean, an
artesian well would be no burden to carry at all if one were able
to solve the problem of how to carry it. All the makin's are right
here, too. Hi, why didn't you bring a medium-sized artesian well
with you! I am amazed that you would neglect to find a way to
bring one along," rebuked Hippy.
"You are all making fun of me. I think you are real mean," pouted
Emma.
"We're not," protested Hippy.
"Yes, he is, dear. Hippy, stop teasing Emma. She is worn out and
irritable. By the way, Mr. Lang, what is an artesian well?" asked
Nora, which brought down another shout of laughter, this time at
her expense.
"I'm not irritable," objected Emma.
"An artesian well is a hole in the ground, Miss Dean," the guide
gravely informed her.
"I'm going to bed!" announced Emma, getting up. "Am I to sleep in
the open, or do we have tents to cover us to-night?" she asked
with much dignity.
"Ping will pitch the tents. He is getting out the canvas now,"
replied Grace. "Before I turn in I am going out to eat some more
'niggerheads.' Any one going with me?"
All signified their desire to have more of the luscious white
pulp, and in a few moments they were gorging themselves among the
bisnagas.
The moon was now well along in its first quarter, and in the cool
of the evening the Overland girls were in a frame of mind to
appreciate and enjoy the scene.
"The desert has a strange and beguiling beauty all its own,"
murmured Grace.
"Yes," agreed Elfreda. "Such an evening as this makes one forget
the awful heat, and lays hold of one's spirit. Then the silence--
no whistling of wind, no rustling of leaves. Why, I find myself
holding my breath so as not to break the silence."
"I had not observed it," retorted Grace, presenting a smiling face
to her companion. "The camp should be ready by now. I move we go
back and turn in."
"The mystery of it all, too," added Elfreda, turning to walk to
the camp.
The guide told them not to be concerned at his absence if he did
not get in until late on the following day, and the Overland
Riders sought their blankets for a rest which all needed.
The night passed without one of the girls moving, so far as any of
them could remember, when they were rudely awakened next morning.
Shouts and yells from Hippy Wingate, and a scream from Emma Dean,
brought Grace, Elfreda, Anne and Nora to their feet, hurriedly
throwing on sufficient clothing to make themselves presentable.
"Girls! Hurry, hurry!" shrieked Emma.
"Coming! Hold fast!" shouted Elfreda Briggs, running out ahead of
the others.