x months. Light a match and turn on the gas and call that
a fire! Hunh! Good old sage er greasewood fer Casey Ryan, from here
on!"

He laid back against the sandy sidehill, tilted his hat over his eyes
and crossed his legs luxuriously. He was in no hurry to continue his
journey. Now that he and the desert were alone together, haste and
Casey Ryan held nothing in common. For awhile he watched a Joshua palm
that looked oddly like a giant man with one arm hanging loose at its
side and another pointing fixedly at a distant, black-capped butte
standing aloof from its fellows. Casey was tired after his night on
the trail. Easy living in town had softened his muscles and slowed a
little that untiring energy which had balked at no hardship. He was
drowsy, and his brain stopped thinking logically and slipped into
half-waking fancy.

The Joshua seemed to move, to lift its arm and point more imperatively
toward the peak. Its ungainly head seemed to turn and nod at Casey.
What did the darned thing want? Casey would go when he, got good and
ready. Perhaps he would go that way, and perhaps he would not. Right
here was good enough for Casey Ryan at present; and you could ask
anybody if he were the man to follow another man's pointing, much less
a Joshua tree.

Battering rain woke Casey some hours later and drove him to the shelter
of the Ford. Thunder and lightning came with the rain, and a bellowing
wind that rocked the car and threatened once or twice to overturn it.
With some trouble Casey managed to button down the curtains and sat
huddled on the front seat, watching through a streaming windshield the
buffeted wilderness. He was glad he had not unloaded his outfit;
gladder still that the storm had not struck which he was traveling.
Down the trail toward him a small river galloped, washing deep gullies
where the wheels of his car offered obstruction to its boisterousness.

"She's a tough one," grinned Casey, in spite of the chattering of his
teeth. "Looks like all the water in the world is bein' poured down
this pass. Keeps on, I'll have to gouge out a couple of Joshuays an'
turn the old Ford into a boat--but Casey'll keep agoin'!"

Until inky dark it rained like the deluge. Casey remained perched in
his one-man ark and tried hard to enjoy himself and his hard-won
freedom. He stabbed open a can of condensed milk, poured it into a
cup, and drank it and ate what was left of his breakfast bannock, which
he had fo