92 CALIFORNIA DESERT TRAILS 



gists say; that is, not homogeneous, but made up of 

 strata of varying degrees of hardness. Many of these 

 bear deep-etched testimony to the sand-storms of 

 ages, the softer parts being chiselled away and the 

 harder left in bold relief. They might have been 

 antiques carved from fragments of the bones of 

 Chronos. 



The same thing happens, of course, and in very 

 brief time, to softer structures. The telegraph poles 

 along the railroad used to need renewal constantly, 

 being soon cut through, a few feet above the ground, 

 by the beat of hail-like gravel and the fret-saw of 

 the sand. Now they are sheathed with iron. Frag- 

 ments of clear glass quickly take on the appearance 

 of ground glass or dull metal. Upon everything, 

 living or dead, the flying sand stamps its seal. 



Another noticeable thing, by the by, about glass 

 that is exposed to the desert sun is that it quickly 

 takes a hue of amethyst or lilac. This tint, expressive 

 of light at its highest actinic power, may almost be 

 called the characteristic color of the desert. I have 

 often been forced to admire the beauty of the shadow 

 tones cast by rock or tree — a thin, pure, violet hue: 

 nay, I have even been charmed with my own image, 

 drawn in this ethereal air-color by my enemy the 

 sun. 



Half buried in sand I noticed some weather-worn 

 timbers. They proved to be railway ties, with 

 twisted rails still spiked to them. This was the mark 

 of another destroyer, one that comes seldom to the 

 desert, but is apt then to come in fury. It was water 

 that had tossed this scrap of railroad miles from 



