The Border Boys Across the Frontier | Page 5

of them
simultaneously.
If they didn't get water pretty soon, their predicament promised to be a
serious one.
An examination of the canteens showed that not much more than a
gallon remained. If only they could yet "pick up" the mesa before dark,
this would not be so serious a matter, but, situated as they were, it was
about as bad as bad could be.
"Waal," said Pete, at length, stroking the last grains of sand out of his
bleached moustache, "waal, I reckon we might as well hang fer a sheep
as er lamb, anyhow. Ef we don't hit water purty soon, we'll be thirstier
yet, so we might as well fill up now."
"Illogical, but sensible," pronounced the professor, leading an eager
rush for the water canteens, which were carried on the pack burros.
"Here, hold on; that's enough!" cried Jack, as Ralph Stetson bent over
backward with the canteen still at his lips.
"Why, I haven't begun to drink yet," protested Ralph.
"Chaw on a bullet, son," advised Pete. "Thet's highly recommended for
the thirst."
"Water suits me better," grumbled Ralph, nevertheless yielding the
canteen to Jack. The lad drank sparingly, as did Pete and the others.
Ralph, alone, of all the party, appeared not to realize how very precious
even the little water that remained might become before long.
Refreshed even by the small quantity they had swallowed of the tepid
stuff, they remounted, and Pete clambered up upon his saddle. While
his pony stood motionless beneath him, he stood erect upon the leather
seat. From this elevation, he scanned the horizon on every side. Far off
to the southwest was sweeping a dun-colored curtain--the departing

sand-storm, but that was all. Otherwise, the desert was unchanged from
its previous aspect.
"Let me hev a look at thet thar compass," said Pete, resuming a sitting
posture once more.
Jack extended his wrist.
"The compass is all right, I know," he said confidently.
"And I know that we've bin hitting the right trail," declared Pete. "Last
time I come this way was with an old prospector who knew this part of
the country well enough to 'pick up' a clump of cactus. If that compass
is right, we're headed straight."
"Yes--if," put in the professor. "But are you quite sure it is?"
This was putting the matter in a new light. Not one of the party was so
ignorant as not to know that, in the many miles they had traveled, the
deflection of the needle, by even the smallest degree, might have meant
a disastrous error.
"Why, I--I--how can it help being right?" asked Jack, a little
uncertainly.
"Which side have you been carrying your revolver on?" asked the
professor.
"Why, you know--on the left side," rejoined Jack, with some surprise.
"And the compass on the left wrist?"
"Yes. Why? Isn't it----"
"No, it ain't!" roared Pete. "I see it all now, perfusser; that thar shootin'
iron has bin deflectin' ther needle."
"I fear so," rejoined the professor.

Under his direction, Jack moved the compass into various positions,
and at the end of a quarter of an hour they arrived at the startling
conclusion that they had travelled perhaps many miles out of their way.
The metal of the weapons Jack carried having, as they saw only too
clearly now, deflected the needle.
"What an idiot I was not to think of such a possibility!" exclaimed Jack
bitterly.
"Not at all, my boy," comforted the professor. "The same thing has
happened to experienced sea-captains, and they have navigated many
miles off their course before they discovered their error."
"All of which, not bein' at' sea, don't help us any," grunted Pete.
"Suppose now, perfusser, that you jes' figger out as well as you kin,
how far wrong we hev gone."
"It will be a difficult task, I fear," said the professor.
"It'll be a heap difficulter task, ef we don't hit water purty soon,"
retorted the cow-puncher.
Thus admonished, Professor Wintergreen divested himself of his
weapons, and, taking out a small notebook, began, with the compass
before him, to make some calculations. At the end of ten minutes or so,
he raised his head.
"Well?" asked Jack eagerly.
"Well," rejoined the professor, "it's not as bad as it might be. We are,
according to my reckoning, about twenty-five miles farther to the south
than we should be."
He consulted his notebook once more.
"The bearings of the mesa require us to travel in that direction." He
indicated a point to the northward of where they were halted.
"And it's twenty-five miles, you say?" asked Pete.

"About that. It may be more, and again it may be less."
"Waal, the less it is, ther better it'll suit yours truly. This stock is jes'
about tuckered."
With the professor now bearing the