TO IMPERIAL VALLEY 281 



with light as it were with a garment." Yes, only that 

 expressed it: it was the Vesture of God. 



In dusk, then darkness, we marched on. The 

 wind was not merely warm but hot; but the dim 

 light gave a sensation of coolness. Our ten miles 

 stretched out as the last miles of a long day will do; 

 but it was pleasant enough to tramp in starlight 

 down the long slope of the mountain {falda, skirt or 

 apron, the Mexicans call it, with instinctive accu- 

 racy of phrase). Wellson was far ahead, hurrying to 

 reach Coyote Wells before the populace should tire 

 of the evening programme of loafing and go to bed. 

 I hung the bridle over my arm and let Kaweah set 

 the pace, which he fixed at a dejected shufile. 



The night silence of the desert is not like the 

 silence of the day. That is terrifying in its vacuity, 

 in its refusal of aid to the mind and its throwing of 

 consciousness back upon itself. But in the desert 

 night the stars, near and warm, give a sense of com- 

 panionship and understanding. They are friendly 

 guides, marching with you or passing with cheery sa- 

 lute. It is especially fascinating to watch them rise. 

 Mounting one by one above the plain, they seem 

 more significant than as we usually see them, min- 

 gled in bright disorder overhead. In their appear- 

 ance at the level of the eye (seeming even lower than 

 that in the vast desert perspective) there is some- 

 thing momentous, as if they were watch-fires kin- 

 dled by some signaller who looked for our reply; 

 and one follows their calm ascent with a kind of 

 pleased curiosity, perhaps also a half recognition 

 of an allegory hopeful to ourselves. 



