THE MESA TRAIL 



above the mesa, and where some blue tower 

 of silence lifts out of the neighboring range, 

 an eagle hanging dizzily, and always buz- 

 zards high up in the thin, translucent air 

 making a merry-go-round. Between the 

 coyote and the birds of carrion the mesa is 

 kept clear of miserable dead. 



The wind, too, is a besom over the tree- 

 less spaces, whisking new sand over the lit- 

 ter of the scant-leaved shrubs, and the little 

 doorways of the burrowers are as trim as 

 city fronts. It takes man to leave unsightly 

 scars on the face of the earth. Here on 

 the mesa the abandoned campoodies of the 

 Paiutes are spots of desolation long after 

 the wattles of the huts have warped in the 

 brush heaps. The campoodies are near 

 the watercourses, but never in the swale 

 of the stream. The Paiute seeks rising 

 ground, depending on air and sun for puri- 

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