Dream 259
XXIX. In Trust 268

WUNPOST

CHAPTER I

THE DEATH VALLEY TRAIL

The heat hung like smoke above Panamint Sink, it surged up against the
hills like the waves of a great sea that boiled and seethed in the sun;
and the mountains that walled it in gleamed and glistened like polished
jet where the light was struck back from their sides. They rose up in
solid ramparts, unbelievably steep and combed clean by the sluicings of
cloudbursts; and where the black canyons had belched forth their floods
a broad wash spread out, writhing and twisting like a snake-track, until
at last it was lost in the Sink. For the Sink was the swallower-up of
all that came from the hills and whatever it sucked in it buried beneath
its sands or poisoned on its alkali flats. Yet the Death Valley trail
led across its level floor--thirty miles from Wild Rose Springs to
Blackwater and its saloons--and while the heat danced and quivered there
was a dust in the north pass and a pack-train swung round the point.

It came on furiously, four burros with flat packs and an old man who ran
cursing behind; and as he passed down into the Sink there was another
dust in the north and a lone man followed as furiously after him. He was
young and tall, a mountain of rude strength, and as he strode off down
the trail he brandished a piece of quartz and swung his hat in the air.
But the pack-train kept on, a column of swirling dust, a blotch of
burro-gray in the heat; and as he emptied his canteen he hurled it to
the ground and took after his partner on the run. He could see the
twinkling feet, the heave of the white packs, the vindictive form
dodging behind; and then his knees weakened, his throbbing brain seemed
to burst and he fell down cursing in the trail. But the pack-train went
on like a tireless automaton that no human power could stay and when he
raised his head it was a streamer of dust, a speck on the far horizon.

He rose up slowly and looked around--at the empty trail, the waterless
flats, the barren hills all about--and then he raised his fist, which
still clutched the chunk of quartz, and shook it at the pillar of dust.
His throat was dry and no words came, to carry the burden of his hate,
but as he stumbled along his eyes were on the dust-cloud and he choked
out gusty oaths. A demoniac strength took possession of his limbs and
once more he broke into a run, the muttered oaths grew louder