the Poso de Mazis.
Genesmere killed some more of the way rehearsing the trails and
water-holes of this country, known to him like his pocket; and by-and-by
food-cooking and mule-feeding and the small machine repetitions of a
camp and a journey brought the Quijotoa Mountains behind him to replace
Gun Sight and the Sierra de la Naril; and later still the Cababi hid the
Quijotoa, and Genesmere counted days and nights to the good, and was at
the Coyote Wells.

These were holes in rocks, but shallow, as Lolita said. No shallower
than ordinary, however; he would see on the way back if they gave signs
of failing. No wonder if they did, with this spell of drought--but why
mix up a plain thing with a lot of nonsense about a black cross down a
hole? Genesmere was critically struck with the words of the tune he now
noticed steadily running in his head again, beneath the random surface
of his thoughts.

"Cinco dragones y un cabo,
Y un gato de sacristan."

That made no sense either; but Mexicans found something in it. Liked it.
Now American songs had some sense:

"They bathed his head in vinegar
To fetch him up to time,
And now he drives a mule team on
The Denver City line."

A man could understand that. A proud stage-driver makes a mistake about
a female passenger. Thinks he has got an heiress, and she turns out to
peddle sarsaparilla. "So he's naturally used up," commented Genesmere.
"You estimate a girl as one thing, and she--" Here the undercurrent
welled up, breaking the surface. "Did she mean that? Was that her
genuine reason?" In memory he took a look at his girl's face, and
repeated her words when she besought him to come the longer way and
hesitated over why. Was that shame at owning she believed such stuff?
True, after asking him once about his religion and hearing what he said,
she had never spoken of these things again. That must be a woman's way
when she loved you first--to hide her notions that differed from yours,
and not ruffle happy days. "Return the same road by Tucson!" He
unwrapped a clean, many-crumpled handkerchief, and held Lolita's
photograph for a while. Then he burst into an unhappy oath, and folded
the picture up again. What if her priest did tell her? He had heard the
minister tell about eternal punishment when he was a boy, and just as
soon as he started thinking it over he knew it was a lie. And this quack
Tinaja was worse foolishness, and had nothing to do wit