It had been
dusty for weeks. The cook had a little water in his keg, but only enough
for drinking purposes. It was twenty miles yet to the Concho, and make
it before night we must. Turning back was farther than going ahead, and
the afternoon was fearfully hot. The heat waves looked like a sea of
fire. The first part of the afternoon drive was a gradual ascent for
fifteen miles, and then came a narrow plateau of a divide. As we reached
this mesa, a sorrier-looking lot of men, horses, and mules can hardly be
imagined. We had already traveled over forty miles without water for the
stock, and five more lay between us and the coveted river.
"The heat was oppressive to the men, but the herd suffered most from the
fine alkali dust which enveloped them. Their eyebrows and nostrils were
whitened with this fine powder, while all colors merged into one. On
reaching this divide, we could see the cotton-woods that outlined the
stream ahead. Before we had fully crossed this watershed and begun the
descent, the mules would trot along beside the riders in the lead, even
permitting us to lay our hands on their backs. It was getting late in
the day before the first friendly breeze of the afternoon blew softly in
our faces.
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