TO THOUSAND PALM CANON 103 



I knew of a settler who had an outlying holding in 

 the direction I was taking, and presently came in 

 sight of his homestead, where I hoped to camp for 

 the night and replenish my canteens for the long 

 stretch that would come before I should reach the 

 next water. It was mere luck that my hope was real- 

 ized. I had taken for granted that I should find a 

 well at the place, but it was a rash expectation. Like 

 others hereabout, this devoted settler brings his 

 water in barrels from miles away, and had he not 

 been at home we must have turned back to our last 

 camp. As it was, we received a hearty welcome from 

 man and wife, and were made as free of their pre- 

 cious water-barrel as though it could be replenished 

 by a word. I was even invited to supper and phono- 

 graph. 



I can never get over a sense of the marvellous 

 with regard to this invention. I don't mean the thing 

 itself; it is the improbable places where one finds it 

 that staggers me, the contrast of this appendage of 

 artificialized life with surroundings often the most 

 primeval. Canned beef we look for everywhere, and 

 find it a commonplace at Lhassa or the Pole; but 

 "canned music" sounds wild on these terms; yet it 

 is pretty sure to accompany the other. Probably the 

 Lama is already tired of the latest Raucotrola, and 

 only refrains from passing it on to the monks of 

 Kinchinjunga lest it might seem odd to send any- 

 thing so old-fashioned. 



I never saw so spectacular a thunder-storm as the 

 one that broke on the peak of San Jacinto that eve- 

 ning. By sundown the clouds had gathered their total 



