Again and again he forgot what it was that he was doing, forgot the
ditches which were branching off from the main canal, right and left,
as his eyes ran out across the sun-blistered sands, as his fancies ran
ahead of them, searching, searching, searching--and half afraid to
find what they sought. He had seen the questing riders push farther
and farther into the desert, had seen them drop out of sight. Now they
were gone; no moving dot told him where their search had taken them,
what they had found. In the middle of an order he found himself
breaking off and turning again to the north, looking for the return of
the party, hoping to see the men waving their hats that all was well,
straining his ears for their reassuring shouts. And the desert, vast,
illimitable, threatening, mysterious, full of dim promise, full of
vague threats, gave no sign.
At eleven o'clock he saw one of the men returning. Why one man alone?
What would be the word which he was bringing? His heart beat thickly.
His throat was very dry. He felt a quick pain through it as he tried
to swallow. He lifted his head, and his eyes asked the question of the
man who had jerked in his sweating horse at his side. The rider shook
his head.
"Nothin'--we ain't found nothin' yet. Mundy sent me back. He says to
tell you they're about ten mile out now, an' the hosses is gettin'
done up for water.
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