IMPERIAL VALLEY TO YUMA 297 



welter of awakening China. There lay the frozen 

 tundra, and there, under friendly Polaris, the no 

 longer defiant North Pole. 



As it drew toward morning the breeze came cooler 

 and more steady, growing to a low monotonous hum 

 that seemed to intensify the silence. No hoot of owl 

 or yelp of coyote told of life and Nature's interest in 

 her children. But for the moon that now cast our 

 shadows beneath us, or some meteor rushing to its 

 fate, Kaweah and I seemed the only moving crea- 

 tures in the universe. Once or twice I missed the 

 track and had to dismount and search carefully for 

 traces of travel, hardly visible on the pavement-like 

 clay which we were crossing. The creosote grew 

 sparser and seemed on the verge of death. The 

 skinny arms waving in the breeze moved in ghostly 

 rhythm, like spectres at a danse macabre. 



At length smears of cloud showed in the eastern 

 sky as the dawn whitened behind them. On the hori- 

 zon a mountain line took form. The first dull color 

 stole in, then quickly brightened ; and soon the sun 

 came rushing up, ploughing his way like a swimmer 

 and sending beams to the zenith, as if bragging of 

 his power. I went on for an hour in hope of sighting 

 some sizable bush for shade; but only skimpy creo- 

 sotes, half a dozen to the acre and almost leafless, 

 kept on to infinity. I stopped and gave Kaweah his 

 breakfast, crouching in his shadow while I ate my 

 own. 



We started on, to take advantage of the com- 

 parative coolness. Miles went by in alternate sand 

 and clay, riding and leading, half awake and half 



