m water!

You cannot understand the fearfulness of this situation. You live in a
northern zone, in a land of pools and streams and limpid springs. How
unlike the denizen of the desert, the voyageur of the prairie sea!
Water is his chief care, his ever-present solicitude; water the divinity
he worships. Without water, even in the midst of plenty, plenty of
food, he must die. In the wild western desert it is the thirst that
kills. No wonder I was filled with despair. I believed myself to be
about the middle of the Jornada. I knew that I could never reach the
other side without water. The yearning had already begun. My throat
and tongue felt shrivelled and parched.

I had lost all knowledge of the course I should take. The mountains,
hitherto my guide, seemed to trend in every direction. Their numerous
spurs puzzled me.

I remembered hearing of a spring, the Ojo del Muerto, that was said to
lie westward of the trail. Sometimes there was water in the spring. On
other occasions travellers had reached it only to find the fountain
dried up, and leave their bones upon its banks. So ran the tales in
Socorro.

I headed my horse westward. I would seek the spring, and, should I fail
to find it, push on to the river. This was turning out of my course;
but I must reach the water and save my life.

I sat in my saddle, faint and choking, leaving my animal to go at will.
I had lost the energy to guide him.

He went many miles westward, for the sun told me the course. I was
suddenly roused from my stupor. A glad sight was before me. A lake!--a
lake shining like crystal. Was I certain I saw it? Could it be the
mirage? No. Its outlines were too sharply defined. It had not that
filmy, whitish appearance which distinguishes the latter phenomenon.
No. It was not the mirage. It was water!

I involuntarily pressed the spur against the side of my horse; but he
needed not that. He had already eyed the water, and sprang forward,
inspirited with new energy. The next moment he was in it up to his
flanks.

I flung myself from the saddle with a plunge. I was about to lift the
water in my concave palms, when the actions of my horse attracted me.
Instead of drinking greedily, he stood tossing his head with snorts of
disappointment. My dog, too, refused to lap, and ran along the shore
whining and howling.

I knew what this meant; but, with that common obstinacy which refuses
all testimony but the evidence of the