THE DESERT 



Unknown 

 ranges. 



Early 

 morning on 

 the desert. 



Air illu- 

 sions. 



not been there. They do not even know the 

 name of them. The Papagoes leave them alone 

 because there is no game in them. Evidently 

 they are considered unimportant hills, no- 

 body's hills, no man's range ; but nevertheless 

 I am off for them in the morning at daylight. 



I ride away through the thin mesquite and 

 the little adobe ranch house is soon lost to view. 

 The morning is still and perfectly clear. The 

 stars have gone out, the moon is looking pale, 

 the deep blue is warming, the sky is lightening 

 with the coming day. How cool and crystalline 

 the air ! In a few hours the great plain will be 

 almost like a fiery furnace under the rays of 

 the summer sun, but now it is chilly. And in 

 a few hours there will be rings and bands and 

 scarves of heat set wavering across the waste 

 upon the opalescent wings of the mirage ; but 

 now the air is so clear that one can see the 

 breaks in the rocky face of the mountain 

 range, though it is fully twenty miles away. 

 It may be further. Who of the desert has not 

 spent his day riding at a mountain and never 

 even reaching its base ? This is a land of illu- 

 sions and thin air. The vision is so cleared at 

 times that the truth itself is deceptive. But I 

 shall ride on for several hours. If, by twelve 



