THE MAKE OF THE DESERT 



tain's side and through the torn arroyos as 

 though they would wash the earth into the sea. 

 The life, too, on the desert is peculiarly savage. 

 It is a show of teeth in bush and beast and 

 reptile. At every turn one feels the presence of 

 the barb and thorn, the jaw and paw, the beak 

 and talon, the sting and the poison thereof. 

 Even the harmless Gila monster flattens his 

 body on a rock and hisses a " Don't step on 

 me." There is no living in concord or brother- 

 hood here. Everything is at war with its 

 neighbor, and the conflict is unceasing. 



Yet this conflict is not so obvious on the face 

 of things. You hear no clash or crash or snarl. 

 The desert is overwhelmingly silent. There 

 is not a sound to be heard ; and not a thing 

 moves save the wind and the sands. But you 

 look up at the worn peaks and the jagged bar- 

 rancas, you look down at the wash-outs and 

 piled bowlders, you look about at the wind- 

 tossed, half -starved bushes ; and, for all the 

 silence, you know that there is a struggle for 

 life, a war for place, going on day by day. 



How is it possible under such conditions for 

 much vegetation to flourish ? The grasses are 

 scanty, the grease -wood and cactus grow in 

 patches, the mesquite crops out only along the 



