FIGTREE JOHN TO BOREGO SPRINGS 197 



since Kaweah, after a nibble at the uninviting for- 

 age, preferred to doze. On some unofficial map I 

 have seen a certain "Sacaton Spring" marked as 

 somewhere about here. Judging from the name, it 

 would be marked by a growth of sacaton grass, 

 which could be seen for miles in this kind of country. 

 I searched with my field-glasses, but in vain, for 

 any trace of greenness. Fortunately, as I had been 

 unable to find anybody who knew of such a spring, 

 I had not counted on it. Even if it could have been 

 found it might have proved to be like that of the 

 next spring to the south, which is too strongly im- 

 pregnated with soda to be usable. 



We took up our march. Occasionally a wandering 

 breeze blew for a moment, and I opened my shirt 

 and my heart to it, but it quickly died away, and 

 again the heat struck fiercely down. It was impos- 

 sible to maintain any interest in the view, but that 

 was no loss, since nothing changed, hour after hour. 

 The mountain profiles merged and emerged imper- 

 ceptibly, and that was all. It seemed a week that 

 I had been creeping over this unending plain. Some- 

 how I felt unreal, as if I were a picture of a man in 

 my position, and wondered vaguely whether the 

 man ever got anywhere. The sole distraction was in 

 counting the time for my periodical drinks, two 

 mouthfuls per half hour, the first one held for a few 

 seconds in the mouth before swallowing.^ The reason 



^ I have since learned a good dodge from an Indian with whom I 

 was out for some days in dry country. A little plug of the creosote 

 (greasewood) bush, say three quarters of an inch long and a quarter 

 of an inch thick, peeled, held in the mouth, is a good palliative of 

 thirst, much better than the regulation pebble. 



