Sealman had the air of slowing down, after an unusually long nonstop run,
to show off his acquaintance with the country. "That great sandy stretch
is the bed of the Santa Ana," said he. "Why, there's so much sand and so
little water mostly, they have to sprinkle the bed to keep it from flyin'
about the landscape, as if 'twas a pile o' feathers. It ain't like the
Oro, where first they found gold, and then, when they thought they'd got
the lot, come across more in the cobbles. Not only that, but by some
scientific process or other--you wouldn't understand if I told you--they
washed the river-bed, so the sand and stones riz. 'Stirrin' up the
alluvial deposits' was what they called it; till they could get hold of
the cobbles again, to crush 'em for road-makin'. Roads was needed bad them
days! And at last they hauled out the mud from the bottom to plaster over
the desert that was here, so oranges and olives and grapes could take to
growin'. Sort of wonderful, wasn't it?"

Angela could have told him a great deal more than he had told her, about
these "scientific processes," for her father had been one of the men most
interested in their success. But she kept her knowledge to herself.

"Yes, it's wonderful," she replied. "But--don't you think we'd better be
going on? We've a long way before us, according to the map."

"Yes, we'll go right on," said Sealman. "I just thought I'd stop her and
point out the Santa Ana, for fear you'd miss it." He was anxious to
conceal the fact that it was the Model who had "just thought," but, urging
her to begin again where she had left off, the little brute refused to
budge.

"Is anything wrong?" asked Angela, when Sealman had worked in worried
silence for several minutes.