208 THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 



We turn, and look back — eastward. The great 

 range swings its thousands -of acres down the long 

 slope to the feet of the Organ and San Andreas 

 mountains — a shimmering sea, here golden, there 

 silver or pale amber, according as the sunlight 

 strikes or the soil is moist or dry. A vast, silent sea ! 

 Yet eloquent enough to those who have ears where- 

 with to hear. 



We move forward again, closer still to the giant 

 cliff which begins to show its northern edge ser- 

 rated like a saw — a grim volcanic rock setting off 

 to advantage the delicate, sunlit background of plain 

 and mountain — the colorful New Mexican land- 

 scape which mocks at cameras, eternally changing, 

 invisible clouds trailing over it phantom shadows — 

 violet, purple, heliotrope, pale lavender and cobalt! 

 Whence come they? Whither go they? And all 

 this beneath a sky the hue of a sapphire ! 



We pass through a gate in the line fence and find 

 ourselves on another cattle ranch. The trail down 

 which we swoop leads east once more instead of 

 west. We are not going around the mountain — 

 distinctly not. Mildly I comment on this fact. 



"Don't worry!" Thus adjures my chauffeur. 

 "It will be all right. You see !" 



Worry? I'm not worrying. 



Presently we come to the home ranch. No one 

 at home, doors and windows closed. Modern facil- 

 ities have done away with the hermit life for cattle- 

 men and their families. A bunch of young stock 

 lines up to bar our course, blood in every individual 



