“Genie, the Yaqui Indians in Sonora love this _cholla_,” said Adam. “Love it as they hate Mexicans. They will strip a Mexican naked, tear the skin off the soles of his feet, and drive him through the _cholla_ until he’s dead. It wouldn’t take long!... All prospectors hate _cholla_. I hate it, yet I--I guess I’m a little like the Yaquis. I often prick my finger on _cholla_ just to feel the sting, the burn, the throb. The only pain I could ever compare to that made by _cholla_ is the sting of the sharp horn of a little catfish back in Ohio. Oh! I’ll never forget that! A poison, burning sting!... But _cholla_ is terrible because the thorns stick in your flesh. When you jerk to free yourself the thorns leave the cones. Each thorn has an invisible barb and it works deeper and deeper into flesh.” “Don’t _I_ know!” exclaimed Genie, emphatically. “I’ve spent whole hours digging them out of my feet and legs. But how pretty the _cholla_ shines! Only it doesn’t tell the truth, does it, Wanny?” “Child, please don’t call me Wanny. It’s so--so silly,” protested Adam. “It’s not. No sillier than your calling me child! I’m nearly fifteen. I’m growing right out of my clothes.” “Call me Adam.” “No, I don’t like that name. And I can’t call you mister or father or brother.” “But what’s wrong with Adam?” “I read in mother’s bible about Adam and Eve. I hated her when the devil got into her. And I didn’t like Adam. And I don’t like the _name_ Adam. You’d never have been driven from heaven.” “I’m not so sure about that,” said Adam, ruefully. “Genie, I was wicked when I was a--a young man.” “You were! Well, I don’t care. _You’d_ never be tempted to disobey the Lord--not by Eve with all her stolen apples!” “All right, called me Wanny,” returned Adam, and he made haste to change the subject. There were times when Genie, with her simplicity, her directness, her curiosity, and her innocence, caused Adam extreme perplexity, not to say embarrassment. He remembered his own bringing up. It seemed every year his childhood days came back closer. And thrown as he was in constant companionship with this child of nature, he began to wonder if the sophisticated education of children, especially girls, as it had been in his youth, was as fine and simple and true to life as it might have been. Andreas Canyon yawned with wide mouth and huge yellow cliffs. Just beyond the mouth of the canyon and across the wide space from cliff to slope bloomed the most verdant and beautiful oasis of that desert region. Huge gray bowlders, clean and old, and russet with lichen, made barricade for a clear stream of green water, as if to protect it from blowing desert sand. Yet there were little beaches of white sand, lined by colored pebbles. Green rushes and flags grew in the water. Beyond the stream, on the side of the flat-rocked slope, lay a many-acred thicket of mesquite, impenetrable except for birds and beasts. The green of the leaves seemed dominated by bronze colors of the mistletoe.