THE LAND OF LITTLE RAIN 



the high seat with the sun glare heavy in 

 his eyes, dealing out curses of pacification 

 in a level, uninterested voice until the 

 clamor fell off from sheer exhaustion. 

 There was a line of shallow graves along 

 that road ; they used to count on dropping 

 a man or two of every new gang of coolies 

 brought out in the hot season. But when 

 he lost his swamper, smitten without warn- 

 ing at the noon halt, Salty quit his job ; he 

 said it was " too durn hot." The swamper 

 he buried by the way with stones upon him 

 to keep the coyotes from digging him up, 

 and seven years later I read the penciled 

 lines on the pine headboard, still bright 

 and unweathered. 



But before that, driving up on the 



Mojave stage, I met Salty again crossing 



Indian Wells, his face from the high seat, 



tanned and ruddy as a harvest moon, lobm- 



18 



