Enoch smiled to himself.

“Fowler sent his prospectors into Mexico after that,” Mack went on reminiscently.  “Curly and I were in charge of the silver mine near Rio Chacita where they struck some gushers.  They were one tough crowd.  We all slept in tents those days, and I remember none of us dared to light a lamp or candle because if one of those fellows saw it, they’d take a pot shot at it.  One of my foremen dug a six-foot pit and set his tent over it.  Then he let ’em shoot at will.  Those were the days!”

“Government ought to keep out of business,” said Curly.  “Let the States manage their own affairs.”

“What’s Field sore about?” asked Enoch of Mack.

“He’s just ignorant,” answered Mack calmly.  “Hand me some tobacco, Curly, and quit your beefing.  When you make your fortune washing gold up in the Colorado, you can get yourself elected to Congress and do Fowler up.  In the meantime—­”

“Aw, shut up, Mack,” drawled Curly good-naturedly.  “What are you trying to do, ruin my reputation with Just Smith here?  By the way, Just, you haven’t told us what your work is.”

“I’m a lawyer,” said Enoch solemnly.

The three men stared at each other in the fire glow.  Suddenly Enoch burst into a hearty laugh, in which the others joined.

“What was the queerest thing you’ve ever seen in the desert, Mack?” asked Enoch, when they had sobered down.

Mack sat in silence for a time.  “That’s hard to judge,” he said finally.  “Once, in the Death Valley country, I saw a blind priest riding a burro fifty miles from anywhere.  He had no pack, just a canteen.  He said he was doing a penance and if I tried to help him, he’d curse me.  So I went off and left him.  And once I saw a fat woman in a kimono and white satin high heeled slippers chasing her horse over the trackless desert.  Lord!”

“Was that any queerer sight than Just Smith chasing Pablo this morning?” demanded Curly.

“Or than Field tying a stone to Mamie’s tail to keep her from braying to-night?” asked Enoch.

“You’re improving!” exclaimed Curly, “Dignity’s an awful thing to take into the desert for a vacation.”

“Let’s go to bed,” suggested Mack, and in the fewest possible minutes the camp was at rest.

The trail for the next two days grew rougher and rougher, while the brilliancy of color in rock and sand increased in the same ratio as the aridity.  Enoch, pounding along at the rear of the parade, hour after hour, was still in too anguished and abstracted a frame of mind to heed details.  He knew only that the vast loveliness and the naked austerity of the desert were fit backgrounds, the first for this thought of Diana, the second for his bitter retrospects.

Mid-morning on the third day, after several hours of silent trekking, Curly turned in his saddle: 

“Just, have you noticed the mirage?” pointing to the right.