Adam lay awake for some length of time, waiting for Dismukes to return,
but he did not come. Adam at length succumbed to drowsiness. It was
Dismukes’s call that awakened him. The sun already tipped the eastern
range, rosy red, and all the open land lay fresh and colorful in the
morning light. Adam felt no severe effects from his hard experience,
except an inordinate hunger, which Dismukes was more disposed to
appease. Still he cautioned Adam not to eat too much.
“Now, Wansfell, you must learn all about burros,” began Dismukes. “The
burro is the most important part of your outfit. This desert would
still be a blank waste, unknown to white man, if it had not been for
those shaggy, lazy, lop-eared little donkeys. Whenever you get sore
at one an’ feel inclined to kill him for some trick or other, just
remember that you could not get along without him.
“Most burros are alike. They hang near camp, as you see mine, hopin’
they can steal a bite of somethin’ if you don’t give it to them.
They’ll eat paper, or ‘most anythin’ except greasewood. They love
paper off bacon. I had one once that ate my overalls. They never get
homesick an’ seem contented in the most desolate places. I had a
burro that was happy in Death Valley, which’s the hell hole of this
wasteland. Burros are seldom responsive to affection. They’ll stand
great abuse. Never expect any thanks. Always patient. They are usually
easy to catch. But they must know you. Only way to catch them is to
head them off. Then they stop. Young burros are easily broke an’ will
follow others. They must be driven. Never knew but one that I could
lead. Don’t forget this. They have the most wonderful endurance--never
stumble or fall--an’ can exist on practically nothin’. When you turn
them loose they’ll nibble around awhile, then stop an’ stand like
rocks, never movin’ for hours an’ hours, as if they were wrapped in
prehistoric thought. In the mornin’ when you start off on your day’s
travel the burros are fresh an’ they drive fine. But in the afternoon,
when they get tired, they think of tricks. They’ll lie down--roll over
on a pack--knock against a rock or tree. They’ll get together in a
bunch to tangle the packs. When a burro intends to lie down he humps
his back an’ wriggles his tail. It’s hard to get burros across streams.
Scared of water! Strange, isn’t that? I’ve had to carry my burros many
a time. But they’ll climb or go down the steepest, roughest mountain
trail without fear. They can slide down a steep slope that a man will
not stick on. Burros have more patience and good qualities, an’ also
cussedness, than any other beasts. They pick out pardners an’ stick
together all the time. A big bunch of burros will pair off regardless
of sex. Never give each other up! They bray at night--an awful sound
till you get used to it. Remember this quick some night when you’re
lifted out of a sleep by a terrible unearthly roar.... Well, I guess
that’s an introduction to desert burros. It’s all serious fact,
Wansfell, as you’ll learn, an’ to your cost, unless you remember.”
How singular for Adam to have the closing words of Dismukes reveal the
absorbing interest of this simple and practical talk about burros! It
amazed Adam to find that he had even been amused, ready to laugh.
“I’ll remember,” he asserted, with conviction.
“Dare say you will,” replied Dismukes, “but the idea is you must
remember before you get in trouble, not after. I can’t tell you when to
know a burro is goin’ to trick you. I’m just givin’ you facts as to the
nature of burros in general. You must study an’ learn them yourself. A
man could spend his life studyin’ burros an’ then have lots to learn.
Most prospectors lose half their time trackin’ their burros. It’s
tryin’ to find burros that has cost many a desert man his life. An’
this is why, if you’ve chosen the desert to live in, you must learn the
habits of the burro. He’s the camel of this Sahara.”
With that the prospector appeared to have talked himself out for the
present, and he devoted his efforts to a selection of parts of his
outfit that manifestly he meant to turn over to Adam. At length having
made the selection to his satisfaction, he went out to wake up the
burro Jinny. As he led Jinny into camp all the other burros trooped
along.
“Watch me pack an’ then you try your hand on Jinny,” he said.
Adam was all eyes while the prospector placed in position the old
ragged pads of skins and blankets, and the packsaddles over them, to
be buckled carefully. It was all comparatively easy until it came to
tying the pack on with a rope in what Dismukes called a hitch. However,
after Dismukes had accomplished it on three of the other burros, Adam
believed he could make a respectable showing. To this end he began to
pack Jinny, and did very well indeed till he got to the hitch, which
was harder to tie than it looked. After several attempts he succeeded.
During this procedure Jinny stood with one long ear up and the other
down, as if nothing on earth mattered to her.
“Carry the canteen of water yourself,” said Dismukes, as he led Adam
out from under the tree and pointed west. “See where that long, low,
sharp ridge comes down to the desert?... Well, that’s fifty miles.
Around that point lies a wide canyon. Indians live up that canyon.
They are good people. Stay with them--work for them till you learn the
desert.... Now as to gettin’ there. Go slow. Rest often in the shade of
ironwoods like this one. Take a good rest durin’ the middle of the day.
As long as you sweat you’re in no danger. But if your skin gets dry
you need to get out of the sun an’ to drink. There are several springs
along the base of this range. Chocolate Mountains, they’re called. By
keepin’ a sharp eye for patches of bright-green brush you’ll see where
the water is. An’ don’t ever forget that water is the same as life
blood.”
Adam nodded solemnly as he realized how the mere thought of thirst
constricted his throat and revived there a semblance of the pain he had
endured.
“Go slow. Maybe you’ll take two or three days to reach the Indians. By
keepin’ that ridge in sight you can’t miss them.”
The next move of the prospector was to take Adam around on the other
side of the tree and wave his hand at the expanse of desert.
“Now follow me an’ get these landmarks in your mind. Behind us lies
the Chocolate range. You see it runs down almost southeast. That shiny
black mountain standin’ by itself is Pilot Knob. It’s near Yuma, as of
course you remember. Now straight across from us a few miles lies a
line of sand dunes. They run same way as the Chocolates. But they’re
low--can’t be seen far. Do you make out a dim, gray, strange-lookin’
range just over the top of them?”
“Yes, I see that clearly. Looks like clouds,” replied Adam.
“That’s the Superstition Mountains. You will hear queer stories about
them. Most prospectors are afraid to go there, though it’s said Pegleg
Smith’s lost gold mine is somewhere in there. The Indians think the
range is haunted. An’ everyone who knows this desert will tell you
how the Superstition range changes somehow from time to time. It does
change. Those mountains are giant sand dunes an’ they change their
shape with the shiftin’ of the winds. That’s the fact, but I’m not
gainsayin’ how strange an’ weird they are. An’ I, for one, believe
Pegleg Smith did find gold there. But there’s no water. An’ how can
a man live without water?... Well, to go on, that dim, purple, high
range beyond the Superstitions lies across the line in Mexico.... Now,
lookin’ round to the right of the Superstitions, to the northwest,
an’ you see how the desert slopes down an’ down on all sides to a
pale, hazy valley that looks like a lake. It’s the Salton Sink--below
sea level--an’ it’s death for a man to try to cross there at this
season. It looks obscured an’ small, but it’s really a whole desert
in itself. In times gone by the Colorado River has broken its banks
while in flood an’ run back in there to fill that sink. Miles an’ miles
of fresh water which soon evaporated! Well, it’s a queer old earth
an’ this desert teaches much.... Now look straight up the valley. The
ragged high peak is San Jacinto an’ the other high one farther north is
San Gorgonio--two hundred miles from here. Prospectors call this one
Grayback because it has the shape of a louse. These mountains are white
with snow in the winter. Beyond them lies the Mohave Desert, an immense
waste, which hides Death Valley in its iron-walled mountains.... Now
comin’ back down the valley on this side you see the Cottonwood range
an’ it runs down to meet the Chocolates. There’s a break in the range.
An’ still farther down there’s a break in the Chocolate range an’
there’s where your canyon comes out. You’ll climb the pass some day,
to get on top of the Chuckwalla Mountains, an’ from there you will see
north to the Mohave an’ east to the Colorado--all stark naked desert
that seems to hit a man in the face.... An’, well, I guess I’ve done my
best for you.”
Adam could not for the moment safely trust himself to speak. The
expanse of desert shown him, thus magnified into its true perspective,
now stretched out with the nature of its distance and nudity
strikingly clear. It did seem to glare a menace into Adam’s face. It
made him tremble. Yet there was fascination in the luring, deceitful
Superstition range, and a sublimity in the measureless sweep of haze
and purple slope leading north to the great peaks, and a compelling
beckoning urge in the mystery and unknown that seemed to abide beyond
the bronze ridge which marked Adam’s objective point.
“I’ll never forget your--your kindness,” said Adam, finally turning to
Dismukes.
The prospector shook hands with him, and his grip was something to
endure.
“Kindness is nothin’. I owed you what a man owes to himself. But don’t
forget anythin’ I told you.”
“I never will,” replied Adam. “Will you let me pay you for the--the
burro and outfit?” Adam made this request hesitatingly, because he did
not know the law of the desert, and he did not want to offer what might
be an offense.
“Sure you got plenty of money?” queried Dismukes, gruffly.
“Indeed I have,” rejoined Adam, eagerly.
“Then I’ll take what the burro an’ grub cost.”
He named a sum that appeared very small to Adam, and, receiving the
money in his horny hands, he carefully deposited it in a greasy
buckskin sack.
“Wansfell, may we meet again,” he said in farewell. “Good luck an’ good
by.... Don’t forget.”
“Good by,” returned Adam, unable to say more.
With a whoop at the four burros and a slap on the haunch of one of
them, Dismukes started them southward. They trotted ahead with packs
bobbing and wagging. What giant strides Dismukes took! He seemed the
incarnation of dogged strength of manhood, yet something ludicrous
clung about him in his powerful action as well as in his immense squat
form. He did not look back.
Adam slapped Jinny on the haunch and started her westward.
The hour was still early morning. A rosy freshness of the sunrise
still slanted along the bronze slopes of the range and here and there
blossoms of _ocatilla_ shone red. The desert appeared to be a gently
rising floor of gravel, sparsely decked with ironwood and mesquite, and
an occasional cactus, that, so far as Adam could see, did not harbor
a living creature. The day did not seem to feel hot, but Adam knew
from the rising heat veils that it was hot. Excitement governed his
feelings. Actually he was on the move, with an outfit and every hope
to escape possible pursuers, with the absolute surety of a hard yet
wonderful existence staring him in the face.
Not until he felt a drag in his steps did he think of his weakened
condition. Resting awhile in the shade of a tree, he let the burro
graze on the scant brush, and then went on again. Thus he traveled on,
with frequent rests, until the heat made it imperative for him to halt
till afternoon. About the middle of the afternoon he packed and set
forth again.
A direct line westward appeared to be bringing him closer to the slope
of the mountain; and it was not long before he saw a thick patch of
green brush that surely indicated a water hole. The very sight seemed
to invigorate him. Nevertheless, the promised oasis was far away,
and not before he had walked till he was weary and rested many times
did he reach it. To find water and grass was like making a thrilling
discovery. Adam unpacked Jinny and turned her loose, not, however,
without some misgivings as to her staying there.
Though he suffered from an extreme fatigue and a weakness that seemed
to be in both muscle and bone, a kind of cheer came to him with the
camp-fire duties. Never had he been so famished! The sun set while he
ate, and, despite his hunger, more than once he had to stop to gaze
down across the measureless slope, smoky and red, that ended in purple
obscurity. It struck him suddenly, as he was putting some sticks of
dead ironwood on the fire, how he had ceased to look back over his
shoulder toward the south. The fire sputtered, the twilight deepened,
the silence grew vast and vague. His eyelids were as heavy as lead, and
all the nerves and veins of his body seemed to run together and to sink
into an abyss the restfulness of which was unutterably sweet.
Some time during Adam’s slumbers a nightmare possessed him. At the
moment he was about to be captured he awakened, cold with clammy sweat
and shaking in every limb. With violent start of consciousness, with
fearful uncertainty, he raised himself to peer around. The desert
night encompassed him. It was late, somewhere near the morning hour.
Low down over the dark horizon line hung a wan distorted moon that
shone with weird luster. Adam saw the black mountain wall above him
apparently lifting to the stars, and the thick shadow of gloom filling
the mouth of the canyon where he lay. He listened. And then he breathed
a long sigh of relief and lay back in his blankets. The silence was
that of a grave. There were no pursuers. He had only dreamed. And he
closed his eyes again, feeling some blessed safeguard in the fact of
his loneliness.
Dawn roused him to his tasks, stronger physically, eager and keen, but
more watchful than he had been the preceding day and with less thrill
than he had felt. He packed in half an hour and was traveling west when
the sun rose. Gradually with the return of his habit of watchfulness
came his former instinctive tendency to look back over his shoulder.
He continually drove this away and it continually returned. The only
sure banishment of it came through action, with its attendant exercise
of his faculties. Therefore he rested less and walked more, taxing his
strength to its utmost that morning, until the hot noon hour forced
him to halt. Then while Jinny nibbled at the bitter desert plants Adam
dozed in the thin shade of a mesquite. Close by grew a large _ocatilla_
cactus covered with red flowers among which bees hummed. Adam never
completely lost sense of this melodious hum, and it seemed to be trying
to revive memories that he shunned.
The sun was still high and hot when Adam resumed travel, but it was
westering and the slanting rays were bearable. After he got thoroughly
warmed up and sweating freely he did not mind the heat, and was able
to drive Jinny and keep up a strong stride for an hour at a time. His
course now led along the base of the mountain wall, and that long low
ridge which marked his destination began to seem less unattainable. The
afternoon waned, the sun sank, the heat declined, and Jinny began to
show signs of weariness. It bothered Adam to keep her headed straight.
He searched the line where desert slope met the mountain wall for
another green thicket of brush marking a water hole, but he could not
see one. Darkness overtook him and he was compelled to make dry camp.
This occasioned him some uneasiness, not that he did not have plenty
of water for himself, but because he worried about the burro and the
possibility of not finding water the next day. Nevertheless, he slept
soundly.
On the following morning, when he had been tramping along for an hour
or more, he espied far ahead the unmistakable green patch of thicket
that heralded the presence of water. The sight stirred him. He walked
well that morning, resting only a couple of hours at noon; but the
green patch, after the manner of distant objects on the desert, seemed
just as far away as when he saw it first. The time came, however, when
there was no more illusion and he knew he was getting close to the
place. At last he reached it, a large green thicket that choked the
mouth of a narrow canyon. He found a spring welling from under the
mountain base and sending a slender stream out to be swallowed by the
sand.
Adam gave Jinny a drink before he unpacked her. There was a desirable
camp site, except that it lacked dead firewood close at hand. Adam
removed the pack, being careful to put boxes and bags together and to
cover them with the canvas. Then he started out to look for some dead
ironwood or mesquite to burn. All the desert growths, mostly greasewood
and mesquite, were young and green. Adam searched in one direction and
then in another, without so much as finding a stick. Next he walked
west along the rocky wall, and had no better success until he came to a
deep recession in the wall, full of brush; and here with considerable
labor he collected a bundle of dry sticks. With this he trudged back
toward camp.
Before long he imagined he saw smoke. “Queer how those smoke trees fool
a fellow,” he said. And even after he thought he smelled smoke, he was
sure of deception. But upon nearing the green thicket that hid his camp
he actually did see thin blue smoke low down against the background of
rocky wall. The sight alarmed him. The only explanation which offered
itself to his perplexity was the possibility that a prospector had
arrived at the spring during his absence and had started a fire. Adam
began to hurry. His alarm increased to dread.
When he ran around the corner of thicket to his camp site he did see
a fire. It was about burned out. There was no prospector, no signs of
packs or burros. And Jinny was gone!
“What--what?” stammered Adam, dropping his bundle of sticks. He was
bewildered. A sense of calamity beset him. He ran forward.
“Where--where’s my pack?” he cried.
The dying fire was but the smoldering remains of his pack. It had
been burned. Blankets, boxes, bags had been consumed. Some blackened
utensils lay on the ground near the charred remains of his canvas. Only
then did the truth of this catastrophe burst upon him. All his food had
been burned.