180 East and West 
five miles to the railroad and as the eye makes 
the sweep of the horizon there is not one sign 
of man or his works—not a fence to be seen. 
Hence there is air to breathe—not what passes 
for air in the cities, with millions of particles 
of dirt to the cubic inch, but air with only a 
thousand or two to the inch, unpolluted by 
smoke or gases and with little moisture. One 
who has never breathed such air does not 
know what air is—nor what breathing is. 
It is as unlike the atmosphere of Fifth Avenue 
as a pineapple picked and eaten in Vera Cruz 
or in Ceylon is unlike the little rubber ring 
that comes out of a cheap and nasty can. 
Spread before me are ten thousand square 
miles as wild to all appearances as in the be- 
ginning. That in itself is a solace to the heart 
of the ungregarious: room enough under the 
sun; air for the robust lungs and colour for 
the seeing eye. Yonder are red purple combs 
of andesite and beyond, a cream-coloured 
butte, while below me are massive cliffs of 
dull ochre; in the east a wide basalt mesa, 
rectangular in outline with a great parallel 
stripe along the face of the escarpment which 
in certain lights appears yellow, in others 
salmon-pink, like the lateral stripe on a rain- 
bow trout. Buff-tinted buttes appear like 
