The Arizona Desert 



to-morrow. If the snow in the mountains has begun 

 to melt, we ll have a time getting across.&quot; 



That afternoon, a hot wind blew in my face, carry 

 ing fine sand that cut and blinded. It filled my 

 throat, sending me to the water cask till I was 

 ashamed. When I fell into my bed at night, I never 

 turned. The next day was hotter; the wind blew 

 harder; the sand stung sharper. 



About noon the following day, the horses whin 

 nied, and the mules roused out of their tardy gait. 

 &quot; They smell water,&quot; said Emmett. And despite 

 the heat, and the sand in my nostrils, I smelled it, 

 too. The dogs, poor foot-sore fellows, trotted on 

 ahead down the trail. A few more miles of hot sand 

 and gravel and red stone brought us around a low 

 mesa to the Little Colorado. 



It was a wide stream of swiftly running, reddish- 

 muddy water. In the channel, cut by floods, little 

 streams trickled and meandered in all directions. The 

 main part of the river ran in close to the bank we 

 were on. The dogs lolled in the water; the horses 

 and mules tried to run in, but were restrained; the 

 men drank, and bathed their faces. According to my 

 Flagstaff adviser, this was one of the two drinks I 

 would g^t on the desert, so I availed myself heartily 

 of the opportunity. The water was full of sand, but 

 cold and gratefully thirst-quenching. 



13 



