alled me; but
my standards had changed. Nevertheless, it seemed far enough away. I was
getting physically tired. There is a heap of exercise in many
occupations, such as digging sewers and chopping wood and shopping with
a woman; but driving in small Arizona motor cars need give none of these
occupations any odds. And of late years I have been accustoming myself
to three meals a day.

For this reason there seems no excuse for detailing the next three
hours. From three o'clock until sunset the mirages slowly fade away into
the many-tinted veils of evening. I know that because I've seen it; but
never would I know it whilst an inmate of a gasoline madhouse. We
carried our own egg-shaped aura constantly with us, on the invisible
walls of which the subtle and austere influences of the desert beat in
vain. That aura was composed of speed, bumps, dust, profane noise, and
an extreme and exotic busyness. It might be that in a docile, tame,
expensive automobile, garnished with a sane and biddable driver, one
might see the desert as it is. I don't know whether such a combination
exists. But me--I couldn't get into the Officers' Training Camp because
of my advanced years: I may be an old fogy, but I cherish a sneaking
idea that perhaps you have to buy some of these things at the cost of
the aforementioned thirst, heat, weariness, and the slow passing of long
days. Still, an Assyrian brick in the British Museum is inscribed by a
father to his son away at school with a lament over the passing of the
"good old days!"

At any rate, we drew into Spring Creek at five o'clock, shooting at
every jump. My friend's ranch was only six miles farther. This was home
for Bill, and we were soon surrounded by many acquaintances. He had
letters and packages for many of them; and detailed many items of local
news. To us shortly came a cowboy who had evidently bought all the
calico he could carry. This person was also long and lean and brown;
hard bitten; bedecked with worn brown leather _chaps_, and wearing a
gun. The latter he unbuckled and cast from him with great scorn.

"And I don't need no gun to do it, neither!" he stated, as though
concluding a long conversation.

"Shore not, Slim," agreed one of the group, promptly annexing the
artillery. "What is it?"

"Kill that ---- ---- ---- Beck," said Slim, owlishly. "I can do it; and
I can do it with my bare hands, b' God!"

He walked sturdily enough in the direction of the General Store across