So I went off and left him. And once I saw a fat woman
in a kimono and white satin high heeled slippers chasing her horse over
the trackless desert. Lord!"
"Was that any queerer sight than Just Smith chasing Pablo this
morning?" demanded Curly.
"Or than Field tying a stone to Mamie's tail to keep her from braying
to-night?" asked Enoch.
"You're improving!" exclaimed Curly, "Dignity's an awful thing to take
into the desert for a vacation."
"Let's go to bed," suggested Mack, and in the fewest possible minutes
the camp was at rest.
The trail for the next two days grew rougher and rougher, while the
brilliancy of color in rock and sand increased in the same ratio as the
aridity. Enoch, pounding along at the rear of the parade, hour after
hour, was still in too anguished and abstracted a frame of mind to heed
details. He knew only that the vast loveliness and the naked austerity
of the desert were fit backgrounds, the first for this thought of
Diana, the second for his bitter retrospects.
Mid-morning on the third day, after several hours of silent trekking,
Curly turned in his saddle:
"Just, have you noticed the mirage?" pointing to the right.
Far to the east where the desert was most nearly level appeared the
sea, waters of brilliant cobalt blue lapping shores clad in richest
verdure, waves that broke in foam and ran softly up on quiet shores.
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