170 THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 



merciful to him! — country, and swearing that it 

 has nothing but Climate to recommend it. 



Verily to him that hath naught shall naught be 

 given. Yet from time to time artists have visited 

 us, only to go away overcome, possibly, by desert 

 skies and mountains in combination with valleys of 

 a verdure so young and gay that its greenness is 

 as hard to depict on canvas as is the whole amazing 

 sky — and — landscape. At this writing a couple of 

 young artists are succeeding with the brilliant, 

 dazzling aspect of desert scenery — succeeding to a 

 charm. But scenery with us has so many and vary- 

 ing faces. It is not always brilliant and in color is 

 never hard. To one who for many years has 

 watched its varying emotions, its daring moods are 

 but one of many. In its soft depths lies often its 

 greatest beguilment to the desert lover. 



It is not often that the ranchwoman can fare 

 forth, but when she finds herself at length upon an 

 overland train, it is to be stricken dumb by the com- 

 placent know-nothingness of the typical tourist. 

 Unless she watch well her ways, she may listen with 

 bulging eyes to the weird, bottomless yarns poured 

 forth by the ignorant — yarns purporting to describe 

 New Mexico, its climate, products and inhabitants. 

 (With its history, needless to say, the yarner does 

 not concern himself.) The very-know-it-all of the 

 talkative tourist inspires a vague alarm : do we the 

 residents live in truth in such a horror-striking 

 land? It may well be made a subject of prayer that 

 the increasing variety in methods of transportation 

 may awaken the average American to some know- 



