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The sweaty, dust-caked,
weary, thin-ribbed mustangs, and the gray-and-red-stained wagon, and the huge
jumble of dusty packs, showed something of what the journey had been.
"Hi thar, Red Wilson, you air some late gettin' in," greeted old Brackton.
Red Wilson had red eyes from fighting the flying sand, and red dust pasted in
his scraggy beard, and as he gave his belt an upward hitch little red clouds
flew from his gun-sheath.
"Yep. An' I left a wheel an' part of the load on the trail," he said.
With him were Indians who began to unhitch the teams. Riders lounging in the
shade greeted Wilson and inquired for news. The teamster replied that travel
was dry, the water-holes were dry, and he was dry. And his reply gave both
concern and amusement.
"One more trip out an' back--thet's all, till it rains," concluded Wilson.
Brackton led him inside, evidently to alleviate part of that dryness.
Water and grass, next to horses, were the stock subject of all riders.
"It's got oncommon hot early," said one.
"Yes, an' them northeast winds--hard this spring," said another.


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