THE MESA TRAIL 



the flock, and far down the mesa the twi- 

 light twinkle of shepherd fires, when there 

 is a hint of blossom underfoot and a hea- 

 venly whiteness on the hills, one harks back 

 without effort to Judaea and the Nativity. 

 But one feels by day anything but good 

 will to note the shorn shrubs and cropped 

 blossom-tops. So many seasons' effort, so 

 many suns and rains to make a pound of 

 wool ! And then there is the loss of 

 ground-inhabiting birds that must fail from 

 the mesa when few herbs ripen seed. 



Out West, the west of the mesas and 

 the unpatented hills, there is more sky 

 than any place in the world. It does not 

 sit flatly on the rim of earth, but begins 

 somewhere out in the space in which the 

 earth is poised, hollows more, and is full 

 of clean winey winds. There are some 

 odors, too, that get into the blood. There 

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