Adam lay awake for some length of time, waiting for Dismukes to return, but he did not come. Adam at length succumbed to drowsiness. It was Dismukes’s call that awakened him. The sun already tipped the eastern range, rosy red, and all the open land lay fresh and colorful in the morning light. Adam felt no severe effects from his hard experience, except an inordinate hunger, which Dismukes was more disposed to appease. Still he cautioned Adam not to eat too much.

“Now, Wansfell, you must learn all about burros,” began Dismukes. “The burro is the most important part of your outfit. This desert would still be a blank waste, unknown to white man, if it had not been for those shaggy, lazy, lop-eared little donkeys. Whenever you get sore at one an’ feel inclined to kill him for some trick or other, just remember that you could not get along without him.

“Most burros are alike. They hang near camp, as you see mine, hopin’ they can steal a bite of somethin’ if you don’t give it to them. They’ll eat paper, or ‘most anythin’ except greasewood. They love paper off bacon. I had one once that ate my overalls. They never get homesick an’ seem contented in the most desolate places. I had a burro that was happy in Death Valley, which’s the hell hole of this wasteland. Burros are seldom responsive to affection. They’ll stand great abuse. Never expect any thanks. Always patient. They are usually easy to catch. But they must know you. Only way to catch them is to head them off. Then they stop. Young burros are easily broke an’ will follow others. They must be driven. Never knew but one that I could lead. Don’t forget this. They have the most wonderful endurance—never stumble or fall—an’ can exist on practically nothin’. When you turn them loose they’ll nibble around awhile, then stop an’ stand like rocks, never movin’ for hours an’ hours, as if they were wrapped in prehistoric thought. In the mornin’ when you start off on your day’s travel the burros are fresh an’ they drive fine. But in the afternoon, when they get tired, they think of tricks. They’ll lie down—roll over on a pack—knock against a rock or tree. They’ll get together in a bunch to tangle the packs. When a burro intends to lie down he humps his back an’ wriggles his tail. It’s hard to get burros across streams. Scared of water! Strange, isn’t that? I’ve had to carry my burros many a time. But they’ll climb or go down the steepest, roughest mountain trail without fear. They can slide down a steep slope that a man will not stick on. Burros have more patience and good qualities, an’ also cussedness, than any other beasts. They pick out pardners an’ stick together all the time. A big bunch of burros will pair off regardless of sex. Never give each other up! They bray at night—an awful sound till you get used to it. Remember this quick some night when you’re lifted out of a sleep by a terrible unearthly roar.... Well, I guess that’s an introduction to desert burros. It’s all serious fact, Wansfell, as you’ll learn, an’ to your cost, unless you remember.”

How singular for Adam to have the closing words of Dismukes reveal the absorbing interest of this simple and practical talk about burros! It amazed Adam to find that he had even been amused, ready to laugh.

“I’ll remember,” he asserted, with conviction.

“Dare say you will,” replied Dismukes, “but the idea is you must remember before you get in trouble, not after. I can’t tell you when to know a burro is goin’ to trick you. I’m just givin’ you facts as to the nature of burros in general. You must study an’ learn them yourself. A man could spend his life studyin’ burros an’ then have lots to learn. Most prospectors lose half their time trackin’ their burros. It’s tryin’ to find burros that has cost many a desert man his life. An’ this is why, if you’ve chosen the desert to live in, you must learn the habits of the burro. He’s the camel of this Sahara.”

With that the prospector appeared to have talked himself out for the present, and he devoted his efforts to a selection of parts of his outfit that manifestly he meant to turn over to Adam. At length having made the selection to his satisfaction, he went out to wake up the burro Jinny. As he led Jinny into camp all the other burros trooped along.

“Watch me pack an’ then you try your hand on Jinny,” he said.

Adam was all eyes while the prospector placed in position the old ragged pads of skins and blankets, and the packsaddles over them, to be buckled carefully. It was all comparatively easy until it came to tying the pack on with a rope in what Dismukes called a hitch. However, after Dismukes had accomplished it on three of the other burros, Adam believed he could make a respectable showing. To this end he began to pack Jinny, and did very well indeed till he got to the hitch, which was harder to tie than it looked. After several attempts he succeeded. During this procedure Jinny stood with one long ear up and the other down, as if nothing on earth mattered to her.

“Carry the canteen of water yourself,” said Dismukes, as he led Adam out from under the tree and pointed west. “See where that long, low, sharp ridge comes down to the desert?... Well, that’s fifty miles. Around that point lies a wide canyon. Indians live up that canyon. They are good people. Stay with them—work for them till you learn the desert.... Now as to gettin’ there. Go slow. Rest often in the shade of ironwoods like this one. Take a good rest durin’ the middle of the day. As long as you sweat you’re in no danger. But if your skin gets dry you need to get out of the sun an’ to drink. There are several springs along the base of this range. Chocolate Mountains, they’re called. By keepin’ a sharp eye for patches of bright-green brush you’ll see where the water is. An’ don’t ever forget that water is the same as life blood.”

Adam nodded solemnly as he realized how the mere thought of thirst constricted his throat and revived there a semblance of the pain he had endured.

“Go slow. Maybe you’ll take two or three days to reach the Indians. By keepin’ that ridge in sight you can’t miss them.”

The next move of the prospector was to take Adam around on the other side of the tree and wave his hand at the expanse of desert.

“Now follow me an’ get these landmarks in your mind. Behind us lies the Chocolate range. You see it runs down almost southeast. That shiny black mountain standin’ by itself is Pilot Knob. It’s near Yuma, as of course you remember. Now straight across from us a few miles lies a line of sand dunes. They run same way as the Chocolates. But they’re low—can’t be seen far. Do you make out a dim, gray, strange-lookin’ range just over the top of them?”

“Yes, I see that clearly. Looks like clouds,” replied Adam.

“That’s the Superstition Mountains. You will hear queer stories about them. Most prospectors are afraid to go there, though it’s said Pegleg Smith’s lost gold mine is somewhere in there. The Indians think the range is haunted. An’ everyone who knows this desert will tell you how the Superstition range changes somehow from time to time. It does change. Those mountains are giant sand dunes an’ they change their shape with the shiftin’ of the winds. That’s the fact, but I’m not gainsayin’ how strange an’ weird they are. An’ I, for one, believe Pegleg Smith did find gold there. But there’s no water. An’ how can a man live without water?... Well, to go on, that dim, purple, high range beyond the Superstitions lies across the line in Mexico.... Now, lookin’ round to the right of the Superstitions, to the northwest, an’ you see how the desert slopes down an’ down on all sides to a pale, hazy valley that looks like a lake. It’s the Salton Sink—below sea level—an’ it’s death for a man to try to cross there at this season. It looks obscured an’ small, but it’s really a whole desert in itself. In times gone by the Colorado River has broken its banks while in flood an’ run back in there to fill that sink. Miles an’ miles of fresh water which soon evaporated! Well, it’s a queer old earth an’ this desert teaches much.... Now look straight up the valley. The ragged high peak is San Jacinto an’ the other high one farther north is San Gorgonio—two hundred miles from here. Prospectors call this one Grayback because it has the shape of a louse. These mountains are white with snow in the winter. Beyond them lies the Mohave Desert, an immense waste, which hides Death Valley in its iron-walled mountains.... Now comin’ back down the valley on this side you see the Cottonwood range an’ it runs down to meet the Chocolates. There’s a break in the range. An’ still farther down there’s a break in the Chocolate range an’ there’s where your canyon comes out. You’ll climb the pass some day, to get on top of the Chuckwalla Mountains, an’ from there you will see north to the Mohave an’ east to the Colorado—all stark naked desert that seems to hit a man in the face.... An’, well, I guess I’ve done my best for you.”

Adam could not for the moment safely trust himself to speak. The expanse of desert shown him, thus magnified into its true perspective, now stretched out with the nature of its distance and nudity strikingly clear. It did seem to glare a menace into Adam’s face. It made him tremble. Yet there was fascination in the luring, deceitful Superstition range, and a sublimity in the measureless sweep of haze and purple slope leading north to the great peaks, and a compelling beckoning urge in the mystery and unknown that seemed to abide beyond the bronze ridge which marked Adam’s objective point.

“I’ll never forget your—your kindness,” said Adam, finally turning to Dismukes. The prospector shook hands with him, and his grip was something to endure.

“Kindness is nothin’. I owed you what a man owes to himself. But don’t forget anythin’ I told you.”

“I never will,” replied Adam. “Will you let me pay you for the—the burro and outfit?” Adam made this request hesitatingly, because he did not know the law of the desert, and he did not want to offer what might be an offense.

“Sure you got plenty of money?” queried Dismukes, gruffly.

“Indeed I have,” rejoined Adam, eagerly.

“Then I’ll take what the burro an’ grub cost.”

He named a sum that appeared very small to Adam, and, receiving the money in his horny hands, he carefully deposited it in a greasy buckskin sack.

“Wansfell, may we meet again,” he said in farewell. “Good luck an’ good by.... Don’t forget.”

“Good by,” returned Adam, unable to say more.

With a whoop at the four burros and a slap on the haunch of one of them, Dismukes started them southward. They trotted ahead with packs bobbing and wagging. What giant strides Dismukes took! He seemed the incarnation of dogged strength of manhood, yet something ludicrous clung about him in his powerful action as well as in his immense squat form. He did not look back.

Adam slapped Jinny on the haunch and started her westward.

The hour was still early morning. A rosy freshness of the sunrise still slanted along the bronze slopes of the range and here and there blossoms of ocatilla shone red. The desert appeared to be a gently rising floor of gravel, sparsely decked with ironwood and mesquite, and an occasional cactus, that, so far as Adam could see, did not harbor a living creature. The day did not seem to feel hot, but Adam knew from the rising heat veils that it was hot. Excitement governed his feelings. Actually he was on the move, with an outfit and every hope to escape possible pursuers, with the absolute surety of a hard yet wonderful existence staring him in the face.

Not until he felt a drag in his steps did he think of his weakened condition. Resting awhile in the shade of a tree, he let the burro graze on the scant brush, and then went on again. Thus he traveled on, with frequent rests, until the heat made it imperative for him to halt till afternoon. About the middle of the afternoon he packed and set forth again.

A direct line westward appeared to be bringing him closer to the slope of the mountain; and it was not long before he saw a thick patch of green brush that surely indicated a water hole. The very sight seemed to invigorate him. Nevertheless, the promised oasis was far away, and not before he had walked till he was weary and rested many times did he reach it. To find water and grass was like making a thrilling discovery. Adam unpacked Jinny and turned her loose, not, however, without some misgivings as to her staying there.

Though he suffered from an extreme fatigue and a weakness that seemed to be in both muscle and bone, a kind of cheer came to him with the camp-fire duties. Never had he been so famished! The sun set while he ate, and, despite his hunger, more than once he had to stop to gaze down across the measureless slope, smoky and red, that ended in purple obscurity. It struck him suddenly, as he was putting some sticks of dead ironwood on the fire, how he had ceased to look back over his shoulder toward the south. The fire sputtered, the twilight deepened, the silence grew vast and vague. His eyelids were as heavy as lead, and all the nerves and veins of his body seemed to run together and to sink into an abyss the restfulness of which was unutterably sweet.

Some time during Adam’s slumbers a nightmare possessed him. At the moment he was about to be captured he awakened, cold with clammy sweat and shaking in every limb. With violent start of consciousness, with fearful uncertainty, he raised himself to peer around. The desert night encompassed him. It was late, somewhere near the morning hour. Low down over the dark horizon line hung a wan distorted moon that shone with weird luster. Adam saw the black mountain wall above him apparently lifting to the stars, and the thick shadow of gloom filling the mouth of the canyon where he lay. He listened. And then he breathed a long sigh of relief and lay back in his blankets. The silence was that of a grave. There were no pursuers. He had only dreamed. And he closed his eyes again, feeling some blessed safeguard in the fact of his loneliness.

Dawn roused him to his tasks, stronger physically, eager and keen, but more watchful than he had been the preceding day and with less thrill than he had felt. He packed in half an hour and was traveling west when the sun rose. Gradually with the return of his habit of watchfulness came his former instinctive tendency to look back over his shoulder. He continually drove this away and it continually returned. The only sure banishment of it came through action, with its attendant exercise of his faculties. Therefore he rested less and walked more, taxing his strength to its utmost that morning, until the hot noon hour forced him to halt. Then while Jinny nibbled at the bitter desert plants Adam dozed in the thin shade of a mesquite. Close by grew a large ocatilla cactus covered with red flowers among which bees hummed. Adam never completely lost sense of this melodious hum, and it seemed to be trying to revive memories that he shunned.

The sun was still high and hot when Adam resumed travel, but it was westering and the slanting rays were bearable. After he got thoroughly warmed up and sweating freely he did not mind the heat, and was able to drive Jinny and keep up a strong stride for an hour at a time. His course now led along the base of the mountain wall, and that long low ridge which marked his destination began to seem less unattainable. The afternoon waned, the sun sank, the heat declined, and Jinny began to show signs of weariness. It bothered Adam to keep her headed straight. He searched the line where desert slope met the mountain wall for another green thicket of brush marking a water hole, but he could not see one. Darkness overtook him and he was compelled to make dry camp. This occasioned him some uneasiness, not that he did not have plenty of water for himself, but because he worried about the burro and the possibility of not finding water the next day. Nevertheless, he slept soundly.

On the following morning, when he had been tramping along for an hour or more, he espied far ahead the unmistakable green patch of thicket that heralded the presence of water. The sight stirred him. He walked well that morning, resting only a couple of hours at noon; but the green patch, after the manner of distant objects on the desert, seemed just as far away as when he saw it first. The time came, however, when there was no more illusion and he knew he was getting close to the place. At last he reached it, a large green thicket that choked the mouth of a narrow canyon. He found a spring welling from under the mountain base and sending a slender stream out to be swallowed by the sand.

Adam gave Jinny a drink before he unpacked her. There was a desirable camp site, except that it lacked dead firewood close at hand. Adam removed the pack, being careful to put boxes and bags together and to cover them with the canvas. Then he started out to look for some dead ironwood or mesquite to burn. All the desert growths, mostly greasewood and mesquite, were young and green. Adam searched in one direction and then in another, without so much as finding a stick. Next he walked west along the rocky wall, and had no better success until he came to a deep recession in the wall, full of brush; and here with considerable labor he collected a bundle of dry sticks. With this he trudged back toward camp.

Before long he imagined he saw smoke. “Queer how those smoke trees fool a fellow,” he said. And even after he thought he smelled smoke, he was sure of deception. But upon nearing the green thicket that hid his camp he actually did see thin blue smoke low down against the background of rocky wall. The sight alarmed him. The only explanation which offered itself to his perplexity was the possibility that a prospector had arrived at the spring during his absence and had started a fire. Adam began to hurry. His alarm increased to dread.

When he ran around the corner of thicket to his camp site he did see a fire. It was about burned out. There was no prospector, no signs of packs or burros. And Jinny was gone!

“What—what?” stammered Adam, dropping his bundle of sticks. He was bewildered. A sense of calamity beset him. He ran forward.

“Where—where’s my pack?” he cried.

The dying fire was but the smoldering remains of his pack. It had been burned. Blankets, boxes, bags had been consumed. Some blackened utensils lay on the ground near the charred remains of his canvas. Only then did the truth of this catastrophe burst upon him. All his food had been burned.