That evening, after the little fire had burned to a bed of coals, Ernest said: "About time for the stuff to have come from St. Louis."
"I've been thinking of that," returned Roger. "And we've nearly run through the Prebles' extra supplies. Why don't you go in to Archer's Springs and bring a load out. Dick is planning to go day after to-morrow."
"Wouldn't you rather go?" asked Ernest.
"Not if I can help it."
"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Ernest. "I was afraid you'd want the job, and even Archer's Springs would look good to me!"
Roger laughed and slapped Ernest on the shoulder. "You homesick Dutchman! Crazy for the mail, aren't you? There must be something there from Austin. I'm glad you want to go, for I'd hate the trip. Let's turn in!"
Wednesday morning, just at dawn, Dick and Ernest, each driving a team, pulled up before the cook tent where Roger and Qui-tha were finishing breakfast.
"Charley says you're to come up there for supper to-night," called Dick. "Felicia has permission to come down to fetch you at five o'clock."
"All right," returned Roger. "When do you expect to be back, Dick?"
"All depends on luck. Perhaps not before Friday noon."
"Take care of Ernest," called Roger as the two teams started on. "He's flighty!"
"Don't get drowned in that fine well of yours, Rog!" shouted Ernest.
Roger lighted his pipe and helped Qui-tha clean the plates and cups with sand and old newspaper.
"Don't know how we'll do dishes when the newspapers give out, Qui-tha," he said.
"Keep burro. He clean 'em," suggested Qui-tha, with a mischievous grin.
"Wah! Go way! We're not Hualapais like you," retorted Roger.
Qui-tha laughed, and followed Roger to the well. The chill of the early March morning was beginning to lift.
Roger pulled off his coat, preparatory to dropping down into the well, then paused. The sun was just lifting over the peaks. The ranch house was in black shadow. No man with Roger's capacity for work could be lonely with that work at hand. No man with Roger's fine imagination could have failed to have felt his pulses quicken at the sudden conception of the desert's wonders that flashed before his mind as his outward eye took in the sunrise. He saw in flashing panorama the desert's magnificent distances, its unbelievable richness of coloring, its burning desert noons, its still windswept nights, and a vague waking of passions he never had known stirred within his self and work-centered soul.
The air was full of bird song. What Ernest called the dawn's enchantment was just ending. Blackbird and robin, oriole and mocking bird, piped full-throated from every cactus. To Ernest this was the one redeeming touch to the desert's austerity. To Roger it was the crowning of an almost unbearable charm. The sun wheeled in full glory over the peaks. The adobe flashed out from the shadow and Roger slid down into the well.