Far to the east where the desert was most nearly level appeared the sea, waters of brilliant cobalt blue lapping shores clad in richest verdure, waves that broke in foam and ran softly up on quiet shores.  Upon the sea, silhouetted against the turquoise sky were ships with sails of white, of crimson, of gold.  Then, as the men stared with parted lips, the picture dimmed and the pitiless, burning desert shimmered through.

The unexpected vision lifted Enoch out of himself for a little while and he listened, interested and amused, while Curly, half turned in his saddle, discanted on mirages and their interpretations.  Nor did Enoch for several hours after meditate on his troubles.  Not an hour after the mirage had disappeared the sky darkened almost to black, then turned a sullen red.  Lightning forked across the zenith and the thunder reverberated among the thousand mesas, the entangled gorges, until it seemed almost impossible to endure the uproar.  Rain did not begin to fall until noon.  There was not a place in sight that would provide shelter, so the men wrapped their Navajos about them and forced the reluctant animals to continue the journey.  The storm held with fury until late in the afternoon.  The wind, the lightning and the rain vied with one another in punishing the travelers.  Again and again, the burros broke from trail.

“Get busy, Just!” Curly would roar.  “Come out of your trance!” and Enoch would ride Pablo after the impish Mamie with a skill that developed remarkably as the afternoon wore on.  Enoch could not recall ever having been so wretchedly uncomfortable in his life.  He was sodden to the skin, aching with weariness, shivering with cold.  But he made no murmur of protest.  It was Curly who, about five o’clock, called: 

“Hey, Mack!  I’ve gone my limit!”

Mack pulled up and seemed to hesitate.  As he did so, the storm, with a suddenness that was unbelievable, stopped.  A last flare of lightning seemed to blast the clouds from the sky.  The rain ceased and the sun enveloped mesas, gorges, trail in a hundred rainbows.

“How about a fire?” asked Mack, grinning, with chattering teeth.

“It must be done somehow,” replied Curly.  “Come on, Just, shake it up!”

“Look here, Curly,” exclaimed Mack, pausing in the act of throwing his leg over the saddle, “I think you ought to treat Mr. Smith with more respect.  He ain’t your hired help.”

“The dickens he isn’t!” grinned Curly.

“It’s all right, Mack!  I enjoy it,” said Enoch, dismounting stiffly.

“If you do,” Mack gave him a keen look, “you aren’t enjoying it the way Curly thinks you do.”

Enoch returned Mack’s gaze, smiled, but said nothing further.  Mack, however, continued to grumble.

“I’m as good as the next fellow, but I don’t believe in giving everybody a slap on the back or a kick in the pants to prove it.  You may be a lawyer, all right, Mr. Smith, but I’ll bet you’re on the bench.  You’ve got that way with you.  Not that it’s any of my business!”