“Wansfell, I want you to go across into Death Valley,” declared Dismukes, with the deep boom in his voice. “That woman in the shack! Her eyes haunt me. Somethin’ terrible wrong! That man who keeps her there--if he’s not crazy, he’s worse than a gorilla. For a gorilla kills a woman quick.... Wansfell, I’d give a lot to see you handle this man like you handled McKue!” “_Quien sabe_, as you say?” replied Adam. “Draw that map of your trails in Death Valley. I’ve got a little book here, and a pencil.” It was singular to see the gold digger labor with his great, stumpy, calloused fingers. He took long to draw a few lines, and make a few marks, and write a few names in the little book. But when he came to talk of distance and direction, of trails and springs, of flat valley and mountain range--then how swift and fluent he was! All that country lay clearly in his mind, as if he were a great desert condor gazing down from the heights upon the wasteland which was his home. “Now, I’ll be goin’ down into the Funerals soon,” concluded Dismukes. “You see here’s Furnace Creek where it runs into Death Valley. You’ll cross here an’ come up Furnace Creek till you strike the yellow clay hills on the right. It’s a hell of a jumble of hills--absolutely bare. I think there’s gold. You’ll find me somewhere.” It seemed settled then that Adam and Dismukes were to meet in some vague place at some vague time. The desert had no limitations. Time, distance, and place were thought of in relation to their adaptation to desert men. “Well, it’s gettin’ late,” said Dismukes, looking up at the white flare of sun. “I’ll pack an’ go on my way.” While Dismukes strode out to drive in his burros Adam did the camp chores. In a short time his companion appeared with the burros trotting ahead of him. And the sight reminded Adam of the difference between prospectors. Dismukes was not slow, easy, careless, thoughtless. He had not suffered the strange deterioration so common to his class. He did not belong to the type who tracked his burros all day so that he might get started _mañana_. Adam helped him pack. “Wansfell, may we meet again,” said Dismukes, as they shook hands. “All trails cross on the desert. I hope you strike it rich.” “Some day--some day. Good-by,” returned Dismukes, and with vigorous slaps he started the burros. Adam was left to his own devices. After Dismukes passed out of sight in the universal gray of the benches Adam spent a long while watching a lizard on a stone. It was a chuckwalla, a long, slim, greenish-bronze reptile, covered with wonderful spots of vivid color, and with eyes like jewels. Adam spent much time watching the living things of the desert, or listening to the silence. He had discovered that watching anything brought its reward--sometimes in a strange action or a phenomenon of nature or a new thought.