SHY LIFE IN THE DESERT 231 



tiling else, " the river comes to the surface here, 

 you know." 



He spoke of the Santa Cruz. And it is true. 

 The river comes to the surface ; the stretch of 

 watered farms and the brimming irrigation 

 ditches bear witness to the fact ; but it does not 

 stay there. I have frequent occasion to go over 

 the four roads that cross it from the city. On the 

 southernmost of these, where Mexican women 

 are always to be seen washing clothes, spreading 

 the garment over a stone and beating it clean 

 with a stick (" mangling," I should suppose the 

 word ought to be), carriages drive through the 

 stream, while foot-passengers cross by means of 

 stepping-stones ; six or eight boulders of the size 

 of a man's head, perhaps, picked up at random 

 and laid in a row. The next road is furnished 

 with a bridge, though it is hard to see why. The 

 other two (they are all within the distance .of a 

 mile) have neither bridge nor stepping-stones, 

 nor need of any. The river bottom, so called, 

 though it is rather roof than bottom, is as dry as 

 the Sahara. 



So it is with the Rillito, and, I suppose, with 

 all the rivers of the desert. They are shy crea- 

 tures. They love not the garish day. Like the 

 saints of old and the capitalists of our own 

 time, they abhor publicity. Water, they think, 



