The Last of the Plainsmen 



a scant supply of muddy alkali water, which went to 

 the horses. 



Only twice that day did I rouse to anything resem 

 bling enthusiasm. We came to a stretch of country 

 showing the wonderful diversity of the desert land. 

 A long range of beautifully rounded clay dunes bor 

 dered the trail. So symmetrical were they that I 

 imagined them works of sculptors. Light blue, dark 

 blue, clay blue, marine blue, cobalt blue every shade 

 of blue was there, but no other color. The other 

 time that I awoke to sensations from without was 

 when we came to the top of a ridge. We had been 

 passing through red-lands. Jones called the place a 

 strong, specific word which really was illustrative of 

 the heat amid those scaling red ridges. We came 

 out where the red changed abruptly to gray. I 

 seemed always to see things first, and I cried out: 

 &quot; Look ! here are a red lake and trees ! &quot; 



&quot; No, lad, not a lake,&quot; said old Jim, smiling at me; 

 &quot; that s what haunts the desert traveler. It s only a 

 mirage! &quot; 



So I awoke to the realization of that illusive thing, 

 the mirage, a beautiful lie, false as stairs of sand. 

 Far northward a clear rippling lake sparkled in the 

 sunshine. Tall, stately trees, with waving green foli 

 age, bordered the water. For a long moment it lay 



there, smiling in the sun, a thing almost tangible; 



20 



