BLYTHE TO COACHELLA VALLEY 353 



question of Kaweah's holding out. He was certainly 

 very tired and necessarily very thirsty, while by my 

 reckoning we were about twenty-five miles from 

 water, whether we reached it at Cottonwood Springs 

 or Shafer's Well. But the coolness of night would 

 help us out, and Kaweah, blessings on his tough 

 little carcass, is pure Indian and would go till he 

 dropped. As for myself, though I was muscle- weary 

 to the limit (for I had been on foot all day) I felt I 

 could travel forever in that refreshing temperature, 

 and I still had a quart or so of water. 



All night we toiled along. Played out as Kaweah 

 was, whenever I stopped him he was anxious to go 

 on, though with dragging step and muzzle almost 

 touching his knees. I tried to buck him up with 

 promises of the bully times we would have the 

 coming winter — We'll chuck this everlasting clut- 

 ter of saddle-bags, blankets, and canteens, and just 

 knock about and enjoy ourselves, eh, pony boy? 

 And it was clear how all-in he was when he failed 

 to respond to my fraternal slap with humorous show 

 of ill-temper such as flattened ears or playful pre- 

 tence of a bite. Stars rose, stars set: the moon 

 overtook, passed us, and sailed ahead as if rallying 

 us on our despicable pace. I was drowsy, but well 

 content so long as the track kept on westward, for I 

 knew it must bring us into some road that ran down 

 to Mecca. So I whistled, dozed, and plodded on, 

 cheering my plucky little nag, and counting off the 

 miles by the hours we travelled. Rabbits played 

 about in the road, careless of our approach until we 

 almost kicked them away. Now and again a senti- 



