Upon the sea, silhouetted against the turquoise sky were ships with
sails of white, of crimson, of gold. Then, as the men stared with
parted lips, the picture dimmed and the pitiless, burning desert
shimmered through.
The unexpected vision lifted Enoch out of himself for a little while
and he listened, interested and amused, while Curly, half turned in his
saddle, discanted on mirages and their interpretations. Nor did Enoch
for several hours after meditate on his troubles. Not an hour after
the mirage had disappeared the sky darkened almost to black, then
turned a sullen red. Lightning forked across the zenith and the
thunder reverberated among the thousand mesas, the entangled gorges,
until it seemed almost impossible to endure the uproar. Rain did not
begin to fall until noon. There was not a place in sight that would
provide shelter, so the men wrapped their Navajos about them and forced
the reluctant animals to continue the journey. The storm held with
fury until late in the afternoon. The wind, the lightning and the rain
vied with one another in punishing the travelers. Again and again, the
burros broke from trail.
"Get busy, Just!" Curly would roar. "Come out of your trance!" and
Enoch would ride Pablo after the impish Mamie with a skill that
developed remarkably as the afternoon wore on.
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