112 



THE DESERT 



colors come slowly back to their normal con- 

 dition, as the flush of life to one recovering 

 from a trance. One by one they begin to glow 

 on chasm, wall, and needled summit. The air, 

 too, changes from steel-bine to yellow, from yel- 

 low to pink, from pink to lilac, until at last 

 with the sun on the rim of the earth, the moun- 

 tains, the air, the clouds, and the sky are all 

 glowing with the tints of ruby, topaz, rose-dia- 

 mond hues of splendor, of grandeur, of glory. 

 Suppose, if you please, a similar range of 

 mountains thirty miles away on the desert. 

 Even at long distance it shows an imposing 

 bulk against the sky, and you think if you were 

 close to it, wall and peak would loom colossal. 

 How surprised you are then as you ride toward 

 it, hour after hour, to find that it does not seem 

 to grow in size. When you reach the foot-hills 

 the high mountains seem little larger than when 

 seen at a distance. You are further surprised 

 that what appeared like a flat-faced range with 

 its bases touching an imaginary curb-stone for 

 miles, is in reality a group-range with retiring 

 mountains on either side that lead off on acute 

 angles. The group is round, and has as much 

 breadth as length. And still greater is your 

 surprise when you discover that the green top 



