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CHAPTER XV
WUNPOST TAKES THEM ALL ON
The morning found Wunpost at Salt Creek Crossing, where the bones of a hundred emigrants lie buried in the sand without even a cross to mark their resting place. It was a place well calculated to bring up thoughts of death, but Wunpost faced the coming day calmly. At the first flush of dawn the sand was still hot from the sun of the evening before; the low air seemed to suffocate him with its below-sea-level pressure, and the salt marshes to give off stinking gases; it was a hell-hole, even then, and the day was yet to come, when the Valley would make life a torment.
The white borax-flats would reflect a blinding light, the briny marshes would seethe in the sun; and every rock, every sand-dune, would radiate more heat to add to the flame in the sky. Wunpost knew it well, the long-enduring agony which would be his lot that day; but he moved about briskly, bailing the slime from the well and sinking it deeper into the sand. He doused his body into the water and let his pores drink, and threw buckets of it on his beseeching mules; but only after the well-hole had been scraped and bailed twice would he permit them to drink the brackish water. Then he tied them in the shade of the wilting mesquite trees and strode to the top of the hill.
A man, perforce, takes on the color of his surroundings, and Wunpost was coated white from the crystallized salt and baked black underneath by the glare; but the look in his eyes was as savage and implacable as that of a devil from hell. He sat down on the point and focussed his glasses on Poison Spring, and then on the trail beyond; and at last, out on the marshes, he saw an object that moved–it was Pisen-face Lynch and his horse. The horse was in the lead, picking his way along a trail which led across the Sink towards the Ranch; and Lynch was behind, following feebly and sinking down, then springing up again and struggling on. His way led over hummocks of solid salt, across mud-holes and borax-encrusted flats; and far to the south another form moved towards him–it was the Indian, riding out to bring him in.
The sun swung up high, striking through Wunpost’s thin shirt like the blast from a furnace door; sweat rolled down his face, to be sopped up by the bath-towel which he wore draped about his neck; but he sat on his hilltop, grim as a gargoyle on Notre Dame, gloating down on the suffering man. This was Pisen-face Lynch, the bad man from Bodie, who was going to trail him to his mine; this was Eells’ hired man-killer and professional claim-jumper who had robbed him of the Wunpost and Willie Meena–and now he was a derelict, lost on the desert he claimed to know, following along behind his half-dead horse; and but for the Indian who was coming out to meet him he would go to his just reward. Wunpost put up his glasses and turned back with a grin–it was hell, but he was getting his revenge.
Wunpost spent the heat of the day in the bottom of the well, floating about like a frog in the brine, but as evening came on he crawled out dripping and saddled up and packed in haste. Every cinch-ring was searing hot, even the wood and leather burned him, and as he threw on the packs he lifted one foot after the other in a devil’s dance over the hot sands. It was hot even for Death Valley, the hottest place in North America, but there was no use in waiting for it to cool. Wunpost soused himself and mounted, and the next morning at dawn he looked down from the rim of the Panamints.
The great sink-hole was beginning to seethe, to give off its poisonous vapors and fill up like a bowl with its own heat; but he had escaped it and fled to the heights while Pisen-face Lynch stayed below. He was still at the ranch, gasping for breath before the water-fan which served to keep the men there alive; and as he breathed that bone-dry air and felt the day’s heat coming on, he was cursing the name of Calhoun. Yes, cursing long and loud, or deep and low, and vowing to wreak his revenge; for before he had worked for hire, but now he had a grievance of his own. He would take up Wunpost’s trail like an Indian on the warpath, like a warrior who had been robbed of his medicine-bag; he would come on the run and with blood in his eye–that is, if the heat had not killed him. For his pride was involved, and his name as a trailer and an all-around desert-man; he had been led into a trap by a boy in his twenties, and it was up to him to demonstrate or quit.
Wunpost went his way tranquilly, for there was no one to pursue him; and ten days later he rode down Jail Canyon with his pack-mule loaded with ore. It had been his boast that he would return in two weeks with a mule-load of Sockdolager gold; but Billy, as usual, had taken his boast lightly and came running with news of her own.
“Hello!” she called. “Say, you can’t guess what I’ve done–I’ve taught Red and Good Luck to be friends. They eat their supper together!”
“Good!” observed Wunpost, “and not to change the subject, what’s the chances for a white man to eat? I’ve been living on jerky for three days.”
“Why, they’re good,” returned Billy, suddenly quieted by his manner. “What’s the matter–have you had any trouble?”
“Oh, no!” blustered Wunpost, “nah, nothing like that–the other fellow had all the trouble. Did Pisen-face Lynch and that Injun come back? Well, I’ll bet they were dragging their tracks out!”
“They didn’t come through here, but I saw them on the trail–it must have been a week ago. But what’s all that that you’ve got in your pack-sacks–have you been out and got some more ore?”
“Why, sure,” answered Wunpost, deftly easing off his kyacks and lowering the load to the ground. “Didn’t I tell you I was going to get some?”
“Yes, but─”
“But what?” he demanded, looking down on her arrogantly, and Wilhelmina became interested in the dog.
“You have such a funny way of talking,” she said at last, “and besides–would you mind letting me look at it?”
“I sure would!” replied Wunpost; “you leave them sacks alone. And any time my word ain’t as good as gold─”
“Oh, of course it’s good!” she protested, and he took her at her word.
“All right, then–I’ve got the gold.”
“Oh, have you really?” she cried, and as he rolled his eyes accusingly she laughed and bit her lip. “That’s just my way of talking,” she explained, rather lamely. “I mean I’m glad–and surprised.”
“Well, you’ll be more surprised,” he said, nodding grimly, “when I show you a piece of the ore. I sold that last lot to a jeweler in Los Angeles for twenty-four dollars an ounce, quartz and all–and pure gold is worth a little over twenty. Talk about your jewelry ore! Wait till I show this in Blackwater and watch them saloon-bums come through here. Too lazy to go out and find anything for themselves–all they know is to follow some poor guy like me and rob him of what he finds. What’s the news from down below?”
“Oh, nothing,” answered Billy, and stood watching him doubtfully as he unsaddled and turned out his gaunted mules. His new black hat was sweated through already and his clothes were salt-stained and worn, but it was the look in his eye even more than his clothes which convinced her he had had a hard trip. He was close-mouthed and grim and the old rollicking smile seemed to have been lost beneath a two weeks’ growth of beard. Perhaps she had done wrong to speak of the dog first, but she knew there was something behind.
“Did you have a fight with Mr. Lynch?” she asked at last, and he darted a quick glance and said nothing. “Because when he went through here,” she went on finally, “he seemed to be awful quarrelsome.”
“Yes, he’s quarrelsome,” admitted Wunpost, “but so am I. You wait till I tangle with him, sometime.”
“You’re hungry!” she declared, still gazing at him fixedly, and he gave way to a twisted grin.
“How’d you guess it?” he inquired; but she did not tell him, for of course they were supposed to be friends. Yes, good friends, and more–she had let him kiss her once, but now he seemed to have forgotten it. He ate supper greedily and went back to the corral to sleep, and in the morning he was gone.
The early-risers at Blackwater, out to look for their burros or to get a little eye-opener at the saloon, were astonished to see his mules in the adobe corral and Wunpost himself on the street. He was reputed to be in hiding from Pisen-face Lynch, who had been inquiring for him for over a week; and the news was soon passed to Lynch himself, for Blackwater had a grudge against Wunpost. He had made the town, yes, in a manner of speaking–for of course he had discovered the Willie Meena Mine and brought in Eells and the boomers–but never to their knowledge had he spoken a good word of them, or of anything else in town. He came swaggering down their streets as if he owned the place, or had enough money to buy it–and besides, he had led them on two disastrous stampedes in which no one had even located a claim. And the Stinging Lizard Mine was salted! Hence their haste to tell Lynch and the malevolent zeal with which they maneuvered to bring them together.
Wunpost was standing before the Express office, waiting for the agent to open up and receive his ore-sacks for shipment, when he espied his enemy advancing, closely followed by an expectant crowd. Lynch was still haggard and emaciated from his hard trip through Death Valley, and his face had the pallor of indoors; but his small, hateful eyes seemed to burn in their sockets and he walked with venomous quickness. But Wunpost stood waiting, his head thrust out and his gun pulled well to the front, and Lynch came to a sudden halt.
“So there you are!” he burst out accusingly, “you low-down, poisoning whelp! You poisoned that water, you know you did, and I’ve a danged good mind to kill ye!”
“Hop to it!” invited Wunpost, “just git them rubbernecks away. I ain’t scared of you or nobody!”
He paused, and the rubbernecks betook themselves away, but Pisen-face Lynch did not shoot. He stood in the street, shifting his feet uneasily, and Wunpost opened the vials of scorn.
“You’re bad, ain’t you?” he taunted. “You’re so bad your face hurts you, but you can’t run no blazer on me. And just because you chased me clean down into Death Valley you don’t need to think I’m afraid. I was just showing you up as a desert-man, et cetery, but if any man had told me you’d drink that poisoned water I’d’ve said he was crazy with the heat. You’re a lovely looking specimen of humanity! What’s the matter–didn’t you like them Epsom salts?”
“There was arsenic in that water!” charged Pisen-face fiercely. “I had it analyzed–you were trying to kill me!”
“Why, sure there was arsenic,” returned Wunpost mockingly, “don’t you know that rank, fishy smell? But don’t blame me–it was God Almighty that threw the mixture together. And didn’t I leave you a drink in that empty can? Well, where is your proper gratitude?”
He ogled him sarcastically and Lynch took a step forward, only to halt as Wunpost stepped to meet him.
“That’s all right!” threatened Lynch, his voice tremulous with rage and weakness. “You wait till I git back my strength. I’ll fix you for this, you dirty, poisoning coward–you led me to that spring on purpose!”
“Yes, and you followed, you sucker!” returned Wunpost insultingly; “even your Injun had better sense than that. What did you expect me to do–leave you a canteen of good water so you could trail me up and pot me? No, you can consider yourself lucky I didn’t shoot you like a dog for following me off the trail. I gave you the road–what did you want to follow me for? By grab, it looked danged bad!”
“I’ll go where I please!” declared Lynch defiantly. “You’re hiding a mine that belongs to Mr. Eells and my instructions were to follow you and find it.”
“Well, if you’d followed your instructions,” returned Wunpost easily, “you sure would have found a mine. Do you see these two bags? Plum full of ore that I dug since I gave you the shake. Go back and report that to your boss.”
“You’re a liar!” snarled Lynch, but his eyes were on the ore-sacks and now they were gleaming with envy. And other eyes also were suddenly focussed on the gold, at which Wunpost surveyed the crowd intolerantly.
“You’re a prize bunch of prospectors,” he announced as from the housetops. “Why don’t you get out in the hills and rustle? That’s the way I got my start. But you Blackwater stiffs want to hang around town and let somebody else do the work. All you want is a chance to stake an extension on some big strike, so you can sell it to some promoter from Los!”
He grunted contemptuously and picked up the two big sacks while the citizens of Blackwater sneered back at him.
“Aw, bull!” scoffed one, “you ain’t got no gold! And if you have, by grab, you stole it. What about the Stinging Lizard?”
“Well, what about it?” retorted Wunpost, giving his bags to the Express agent, “─put down the value on that at seven thousand dollars.” This last was aside to the inquiring Express agent, but the crowd heard it and burst out hooting.
“Seven thousands cents!” yelled a voice; “you never saw seven thousand dollars! You’re a bull-shover and your mine was salted!”
“Sure it was salted!” agreed Wunpost, laughing exultantly, “but you Blackwater stiffs will bite at anything. Did I ever claim it was a mine? I’m a bull-shover, am I? Well, when did I ever come here and try to sell somebody a mine? No; I came into town with some Sockdolager ore, and you dastards all tried to get me drunk; and I finally made a deal with the barkeep at The Mint to show him the place for a thousand dollar bill. Well, didn’t I show him the place–and didn’t he come back more than satisfied with his pockets bursting out with the gold? He never had no kick–I met him in Los Angeles and he told me he had sold the rock for thirteen hundred dollars to a jeweler. But say, my friends, don’t you think I knew where he would go to get that thousand dollar bill? Do you think I was so drunk I expected a barkeeper to have thousand dollar bills in his pocket? No; I knowed who he would go to, and Eells gave him the bill and a pocket full of Boston beans; but he lost them on the road, so I brought him down Jail Canyon and old-scout Lynch here, he followed my tracks!
“Wasn’t that wonderful, now? He followed our tracks back and he found the Stinging Lizard Mine–and then, of course, he jumped it! That’s his job, when he ain’t licking old Judson Eells’ boots or framing up some crooked deal with Flappum; and then he went back and told Eells. And then Eells–you know him–being as he’d stole the mine from me, like all crooks he thought it was valuable. Was it up to me then to go to Mr. Eells and tell him that the mine was salted? Would you have done it–would anybody? Well, he thought he had me cinched, and I sold out for twenty thousand dollars. And now, my friend, you said a moment ago that I’d never seen seven thousand dollars. All right, I say you never did! But just, by grab, to show you who’s four-flushing I’ll put you out of your misery–I’ll show you seven thousand, savvy?”
He stuck out his head and gazed insolently into the man’s face and then drew out his wad of bills. They were badly sweated, but the numbers were there–he peeled off seven bills and waved them airily, then laughed and shoved them into his overalls.
“Tuh hell with you!” he burst out defiantly, consigning all Blackwater to perdition with one grand, oratorical flourish. “You think you’re so smart,” he went on tauntingly, “now come and trail me to my mine. If you find it you can have it–it ain’t even staked–but they ain’t one of you dares to follow me. I ain’t afraid of Eells and his hired yaller dog, and I ain’t afraid of you! I’ll take you all on–old Eells and all the rest of you–and I ain’t afraid to show you the ore!”
He strode into the Express office and grabbed up a sack, which he cut open with a slash of his knife; and then he reached in and took out a great chunk that bulged and gleamed with gold.
“Am I four-flushing?” he inquired, and when no one answered he grunted and tied up the hole. There was a silence, and the crowd began to filter away–all but Lynch, who stood staring like an Indian. Then he too turned away, his haggard eyes blinking fast, like a woman on the verge of bitter tears.
CHAPTER XVI
DIVINE PROVIDENCE
The thundercaps were gleaming like silver in the heat when Wunpost rode back to Jail Canyon; but he came on almost merrily, a sopping bath-towel about his neck and his shirt pulled out, like a Chinaman’s. These were the last days of September when the clouds which had gathered for months at last were giving down their rain; and the air, now it was humid, seemed to open every pore and make the sweat run in rivulets. Wunpost perspired, but he was happy, and as he neared the silent house he whistled shrilly for his dog. Good Luck came out for a moment, looked down at him reproachfully, and crawled back under the house, Yes, it was hot in the canyon, for the ridge cut off the wind and the rimrock reflected yet more heat, but Wunpost was happy through it all. He had told Blackwater where it could go.
Not Eells and Lynch alone, but the citizens at large, collectively and as individuals; and he had planted the seeds of envy and rage to rankle in their hairy breasts. He had shown them his gold, to make them yearn to find it, and his money to make them envy him his wealth; and then he had left them to stew in their own juice, for Blackwater was as hot as Jail Canyon. He was riding a horse now, and, in addition to Old Walker, he had a third mule, heavily packed; and he was headed for the hills to hide still more food and water against the chase that was sure to come. Sooner or later they would follow on his trail, those petty, hateful souls who now sat in the barrooms and gasped like fish for breath; but they were waiting, forsooth, for the weather to cool down and the cloudbursts to finish their destruction. And that was the very reason why they would never find his mine–they were afraid to take his chances.
Mrs. Campbell and Wilhelmina were out on the back porch, which had been sprinkled until it was almost cool; and when Wunpost had unpacked and put his mules in the corral he came up the hill and joined them. Wilhelmina had returned to her proper sphere, being clothed in the filmiest of gowns; and poor Mrs. Campbell, who was nearly prostrated by the heat, allowed her to entertain the company. They sat in the dense shade of the umbrella trees and creepers, within easy reach of a dripping olla; and after taking a huge drink, which started the sweat again, Wunpost sank down on the cool dirt floor.
“It ain’t so hot here!” he began encouragingly; “you ought to be down in Blackwater. Say, the wind off that Sink would make your hair curl. I scared a lizard out of the shade and he hadn’t run ten feet till he disappeared in a puff of smoke. His pardner turned over and started to lick his toes─”
“Yes, it does look like rain,” observed Billy with a twinkle. “How long since you started to herd lizards?”
“Who–me?” inquired Wunpost. “W’y, I’m telling you the truth. But say, it does look like rain. If they’d only spread it out, instead of dumping it all in one place, it’d suit me better, personally. There was a cloudburst last week hit into the canyon above me and I just made my getaway in time, and where that water landed you’d think a hydraulic sluice had been washing down the hill for a year. It all struck in one place and gouged clean down to bedrock, and when she came by me there was so much brush pushed ahead that it looked like a big, moving dam. Where’s your father–up getting out ore?”
“Yes, he’s up at the mine,” spoke up Mrs. Campbell, “although I’ve begged him not to work so hard. The heat is almost killing him, but he’s so thankful to have his road done that he won’t delay a minute. He’s used up all his sacks, but he’s still sorting the ore so that he can load it right onto the trucks.”
“Yes, that’s good,” commented Wunpost, glancing furtively at Billy, “I hope he makes a million. He deserves it–he’s sure worked hard.”
“Yes, he has,” responded Mrs. Campbell, “and I’ve always had faith in him, but others have tried to discourage him. I believe I’ve heard you say that his work was all wasted, but now everybody is envying him his success. It all goes to show that the Lord cares for his own, and that the righteous are not forgotten; because Cole has always said he would rather be poor and honest than to own the greatest fortune in the land. And now it seems as if the hand of Providence has just reached down and given us our road–the Lord provides for his own.”
“Looks that way,” agreed Wunpost; “sure treating me fine, too. There was a time, back there, when He seemed to have a copper on every bet I played, but now luck is coming my way. Of course I don’t deserve it–and for that matter, I don’t ask no odds–but this last mine I found is a Sockdolager right, and Eells or none of ’em can’t find it. I took down one mule-load that was worth ten thousand dollars, and when I was shipping it you should have seen them Blackwater bums looking on with tears in their eyes. That’s all right about the Lord providing for his own, but I tell you hard work has got something to do with it, whether you believe in religion or not. I’m a rustler, I’ll say that, and I work for what I get, just as hard as your husband or anyone─”
“Ah, but Mister Calhoun,” broke in Mrs. Campbell reproachfully, “we’ve heard evil stories of your dealings with Eells. Not that we like him, for we don’t; but, so we are informed, the mine that you sold him was salted.”
“Why, mother!” exclaimed Billy, but the fat was in the fire, for Wunpost had nodded shamelessly.
“Yes,” he said, “the mine was salted, but don’t let that keep you awake nights. I didn’t sell him the mine–he took it away from me and gave me twenty thousand for a quit-claim. And the twenty thousand dollars was nothing to what I lost when he robbed me and Billy of our mine.”
“Why–why, Mr. Calhoun!” cried Mrs. Campbell in a shocked voice, “did you salt that mine on purpose?”
“You’d have thought so,” he returned, “if you’d seen me packing the ore. It took me nigh onto two weeks.”
Mrs. Campbell paused and gasped, but Wunpost met her gaze with a cold, unblinking stare. Her nice Scotch scruples were not for such as he, and if she crowded him too far he had an answer to her reproaches which would effectually reduce her to silence. But Billy knew that answer, and the reason for the gleam which played like heat-lightning in his eyes, and she hastened to stave off disaster.
“Oh, mother!” she protested, “now please don’t talk seriously to him or he’ll confess to almost anything. He told me a lot of stuff and I was dreadfully worried about it, but I found out he only did it to tease me. And besides, you know yourself that Mr. Eells did take advantage of us and trick us out of our mine–and if it hadn’t been for that we could have built the road ourselves without being beholden to anybody.”
“But Billy, child!” she chided, “just think what you’re saying. Is it any excuse that others are dishonest? Well, I must say I’m surprised!”
“Oh, you’re surprised, are you?” spoke up Wunpost, rising ponderously to his feet. “Well, if you don’t like my style, just say so.”
He reached for his hat and stood waiting for the answer, but Mrs. Campbell avoided the issue.
“It is not for us to judge our neighbors–the Bible says: Judge not, lest ye be judged–but I’m sorry, Mr. Calhoun, that you think so poorly of us as to boast of the deception you practised. He’s no friend of us, this Judson Eells, but surely you cannot think it was aught but dishonest to sell him a salted mine. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and because he took your property is no excuse for committing a crime.”
“A crime!” repeated Wunpost, and turned to look at Billy, who hung her head regretfully. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “She says I’m a criminal! Well, I won’t bother you folks any more. But before I go, Mrs. Campbell, I might as well tell you that these criminals sometimes come in danged handy. Suppose I’d buried that ore in Happy Canyon, for instance, or over the summit in Hanaupah–where would the Campbell family be for a road? They wouldn’t have one, would they? And this here Providence that you talk about would be distributing its rewards to others. But there’s too many good people for the rewards to go around–that’s why some of us get out and rustle. No, you want to be thankful that a criminal came along and took a flyer at being Providence himself; otherwise you’d be stuck with your mine on your hands–because I gave you that road, myself.”
He started for the door and Mrs. Campbell let him go, for the revelation had left her thunderstruck. Never for a moment had she doubted that the sterling integrity of her husband had brought a special dispensation of Providence, and while her faith in Divine Providence was by no means shaken, she did begin to doubt the miracle. Perhaps, after all, this loud and boastful Wunpost had been more than an instrument of Providence–he might, in fact, have been a kindly but misguided friend, who had shaped his vengeance to serve their special needs. For he knew they needed the road and, since he could salt a crevice anywhere, he had located his mine up their canyon. And then Eells had jumped the mine and built the road, and─Well, really, after all, it was no more than right to go out and thank him for his kindness. He was wrong, of course, and led astray by angry passions; but Wilhelmina and he were friends and─She rose up and hurried out after him.
The blazing light in the heavens almost blinded her sight as she stepped out into the sun; and high up above the peaks, like cones of burnished metal, she saw two thundercaps, turning black at the base and mounting on the superheated air. There was the hush in the air which she had learned to associate with an explosion such as was about to take place, and she looked back anxiously, for her husband was up the canyon and the downpour might strike above Panamint. It was clouds such as these that had come together before to form the cloudburst which had isolated their mine, and though they now appeared daily she could never escape the fear that once more they would send down their floods. Every day they struck somewhere, and one more bone-dry canyon ran bank-high and spewed its refuse across the plain, and each time she had the feeling that their sins might be punished by another visitation from on high. But she only glanced back once, for Wunpost was packing and Billy was looking on hopelessly.
“Oh, Mr. Calhoun!” she called, “please don’t go up the canyon now–there’s a cloudburst forming above the peaks.”
“I’ll make it,” he grumbled, cocking his eye at the clouds–and then he stopped and looked again. “There went lightning,” he said; “that’s a mighty bad sign–they’re stabbing out towards each other.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’d better stay,” she went on apologetically, “and please don’t think you’re not welcome. But oh! this heat is terrible–I’ll have to go back–but Billy will stop and help you.”
She raised her sunshade as if she were fleeing from a rain-storm and hastened back out of the sun; and Wunpost, after a minute of careful scrutiny, unpacked and squatted down in the shade.
“They’re moving together,” he said to Billy, “and see that lightning reaching out? This is going to bust the world open, somewhere. That’s no cloudburst that’s shaping up, it’s a regular old waterspout; I know by the way she acts.”
He settled back on his heels to await the outcome, and as the thunder began to roll he turned to his companion and shook his head in ominous silence. There were but two clouds in the sky, all the rest was blazing light; and these two clouds were moving slowly together, or rather, towards a common center. One came on from the southeast, the other from the west, and some invisible force seemed to be drawing them towards the peaks which marked the summit of the Panamints. The play of the lightning became almost constant, the rumbling rose to a tumult; and then, as if caught by resistless hands, the two clouds rushed together. There was a flash of white light, a sudden blackening of the mass, and as Wunpost leapt up shouting a writhing funnel reached down as if feeling for the palpitating earth.
“There she goes!” he cried; “it’s a waterspout, all right–but it ain’t going to land near here.”
He talked on, half to himself, as the great spiral reached and lengthened; and then he shouted again, for it had struck the ground, though where it was impossible to tell. The high rim of the canyon cut off all but the high peaks, and they could see nothing but the waterspout now; and it, as if stabilized by its contact with the earth, had turned into a long line of black. It was a column of falling water, and the two clouds, which had joined, seemed to be discharging their contents down a hole. They were sucked into the vortex, now turned an inky black, and their millions of tons of water were precipitated upon one spot, while all about the ground was left dry.
Wunpost knew what was happening, for he had seen it once before, and as he watched the rain descend he imagined the spot where it fell and the wreck which would follow its flood. For the Panamints are set on edge and shed rain like a roof, the water all flowing off at once; and when they strike a canyon, after rushing down the converging gulches, there is nothing that can withstand their violence. Every canyon in the range, and in the Funeral Range beyond, and in Tin Mountain and the Grapevines to the north–every one of them had been swept by the floods from the heights and ripped out as clean as a sand-wash. And this waterspout, which had turned into a mighty cloudburst, would sweep one of them clean again. The question was–which one?
A breeze, rising suddenly, came up from the Sink and was sucked into the vortex above; the black line of the downfall turned lead-color and broadened out until it merged into the clouds above; and at last, as Wunpost lingered, the storm disappeared and the canyon took on the hush of heavy waiting. The sun blazed out as before, the fig-leaves hung down wilted; but the humidity was gone and the dry, oven-heat almost created the illusion of coolness.
