TO PINON WELL '135 



torrid blast as would cook the whole sidewinder 

 tribe where they lie snoozing in fancied security. 



Hour after hour went by in a sort of trance of 

 heat while we still toiled up that furnace-like valley. 

 The wagon ground its ponderous way through sand 

 or slid screeching over boulders. At half-past nine 

 we reached the point where my teamster was to 

 water his horses. Here he kept several large iron 

 drums of water, which he refilled when necessary 

 at the mine. He unscrewed the plugs with a span- 

 ner, and then bucket after bucket was given the 

 eager animals, Kaweah participating. Next we fed 

 them, and then, while we ate our own lunch, Em- 

 mons casually mentioned that this was Dead Man's 

 Point. Why so called? "Oh, a Mexican was found 

 dead over there, year before last. At least, part of 

 him was found; not much, on account of coyotes. 

 He 'd come out afoot from the mines, — the Lost 

 Horse, think it was, — got thirsty and wandered 

 around some, and then give out. Name was Lopez 

 — no, though, that was another feller; well, any 

 way, some fellers found him up that gully a little 

 ways: saw his tracks going round and round crazy- 

 like, and trailed him. Reckon there ought to be 

 some bits of his clothes up there yet if you 've a 

 mind to look. Yes, it's dry-like around here." 



As we screwed up the drums I had a vision of a 

 raving wretch — myself? — tearing at the immov- 

 able plug with bleeding fingers, striking at it with 

 swollen, lacerated feet, hearing the water gurgle 

 within: — in vain, in vain! Heavens! I felt faint 

 at the thought, and was glad to mount and leave 



