IMPERIAL VALLEY TO YUMA 295 



I came to the last canal about sundown and fed 

 Kaweah at the haystack of a friendly rancher. His 

 wife was away "inside," but I was made welcome 

 at the supper-table where he and his two men ex- 

 hibited their prowess at "baching." Supper over, 

 he and one of the hands loaded their pipes, took each 

 a bottle of coffee, and marched out to put in the 

 night at irrigating, as it was their turn to use the 

 water. The Imperial farmer knows not day or night: 

 the water schedule is his rule of life, for no water, no 

 crops. 



I snatched a couple of hours' sleep, waiting for the 

 moon to rise, which it did about eleven o'clock. 

 Then I watered Kaweah and myself, filled my can- 

 teens, saddled up, and started. The half-moon gave 

 a pleasant light, and though the night was sultry it 

 was a great improvement over the travelling condi- 

 tions by day. I needed no sombrero, and opening 

 my shirt made the most of the faint airs that came 

 wandering over the plain that ran unbroken to the 

 Gulf, seventy miles away. In the uncertain light the 

 dunes took the semblance of creeping shapes, their 

 long shadows black as ink on the pallid gray of the 

 earth. A scant growth of creosote bush blurred the 

 view, and the vagueness added to the impression 

 of space and monotony that is inherent in these 

 great levels. The mountain outlines far ahead could 

 hardly be seen against the dimness of the sky. 



Only the stars and the climbing moon kept life 

 and definition, and these held the mind with more 

 than their wonted fascination. The sentiment of 

 wonder, in its worthiest sensej_findsiittle exercise in 



