edges of the solitudes of
sand-sweep and sand-ridge and cactus and mesquite and utter drought.
Every step their horses took carried them further into a land of arid
menace; at the end of the first hour it was difficult to imagine green
water-fields only a handful of miles away.

'It's just the water that makes the difference,' Howard told her.
'Isn't it, John?' Carr nodded. 'If a man could get water to put on
this land that is burning our horses' fetlocks off right now, he'd have
all the crops and stock range he wanted. Why, the bigger part of
Desert Valley was like this before John took hold of it; he developed
the water, and I've gone on with his work, and look what we've got now!'

'That makes your ranch all the more wonderful!' cried Helen.

Howard's eyes glowed; she noted that they always did when he spoke thus
of Desert Valley or when she bespoke her hearty approval of his choice.
Something prompted her to turn swiftly to Carr; his head was down; he
was frowning at the horn of his saddle; Helen, not devoid of either
intuition or tact, changed the conversation. But not before she noted
that Howard, too, had looked toward his friend.

Big Run huddled among tall cottonwoods in a shallow hollow. It was
blessed with several clear, pure springs, its only blessing. It was
self-sufficient, impudent. About it on all sides was the sweep of grey
desert; in the shade of its cottonwoods, along its thicket of willows,
was a modicum of greenness and coolness; its ugly houses like toads
squatting in the shade had an air of jeering at the wastes of sand and
scrub. The place was old in years and iniquity. The amazing thing
connected with it was that its water could remain pure; one would have
thought that through the years even the deathless springs would have
been contaminated. Long ago it had been a Hopi camp; in their tongue
it was called the 'Half-Way between Here and There.' Later a handful
of treacherous devils from below the border had swooped down into the
cottonwood hollow. They had dissipated the Indian group, for the sake
of robbery and murder. They had squatted by the water-holes,
prototypes of the crooked buildings which now recalled them; they had
builded the town by the simple device of driving Indian labourers to
the task. White men subsequently had come, men of the restless foot,
lone prospectors, cattlemen. They had lodged briefly at the hotel
which necessity had called into being, had played