The White Mustang 



against a stone and watched, with narrow gaze, the 

 canon below. The steely walls hurt my eyes ; the sky 

 was like hot copper. Though nearly wild with heat 

 and aching bones and muscles and the long hours of 

 wait wait wait, I was ashamed to complain, for 

 there sat the old man, still and silent. I routed out 

 a hairy tarantula from under a stone and teased him 

 into a frenzy with my stick, and tried to get up a 

 fight between him and a scallop-backed horned-toad 

 that blinked wonderingly at me. Then I espied a 

 green lizard on a stone. The beautiful reptile was 

 about a foot in length, bright green, dotted with 

 red, and he had diamonds for eyes. Nearby a purple 

 flower blossomed, delicate and pale, with a bee suck 

 ing at its golden heart. I observed then that the 

 lizard had his jewel eyes upon the bee; he slipped to 

 the edge of the stone, picked out a long, red tongue, 

 and tore the insect from its honeyed perch. Here 

 were beauty, life and death; and I had been weary 

 for something to look at, to think about, to distract 

 me from the wearisome wait! 



&quot;Listen!&quot; broke in Jones s sharp voice. His 

 neck was stretched, his eyes were closed, his ear was 

 turned to the wind. 



With thrilling, reawakened eagerness, I strained 

 my hearing. I caught a faint sound, then lost it. 



&quot; Put your car to the ground,&quot; said Jones. 



115 



