THE LAND OF LITTLE RAIN 



divinest, cleanest air to be breathed any- 

 where in God's world. Some day the 

 world will understand that, and the little 

 oases on the windy tops of hills will har- 

 bor for healing its ailing, house -weary 

 broods. There is promise there of great 

 wealth in ores and earths, which is no 

 wealth by reason of being so far removed 

 from water and workable conditions, but 

 men are bewitched by it and tempted to 

 try the impossible. 



You should hear Salty Williams tell how 

 he used to drive eighteen and twenty-mule 

 teams from the borax marsh to Mojave, 

 ninety miles, with the trail wagon full of 

 water barrels. Hot days the mules would 

 go so mad for drink that the clank of the 

 water bucket set them into an uproar of 

 hideous, maimed noises, and a tangle of 

 harness chains, while Salty would sit on 

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