One of my spans come from down in Sonora, somewhere--Santa Elena, wherever that is--and I reckon they're dragging it for home and the others have followed, unless--unless Bob's pony has fallen, or something.

He didn't take any water.

He could follow the tracks back here on this hard ground.

But in the sand down there--with all this wind--" His eye turned to the shimmering white sandhills along the south, with the dust clouds high above them.
"Boland, you'll have to give Carr your horse," said Pete.

"It's his boy; and you're 'most dead anyhow.