By and by the sun grew hot, the train wound slowly and creakingly upgrade,
the car became full of dust, all of which was disagreeable to Carley. She
dozed on her pillow for hours, until she was stirred by a passenger crying
out, delightedly: "Look! Indians!"

Carley looked, not without interest. As a child she had read about Indians,
and memory returned images both colorful and romantic. From the car window
she espied dusty flat barrens, low squat mud houses, and queer-looking
little people, children naked or extremely ragged and dirty, women in loose
garments with flares of red, and men in white man's garb, slovenly and
motley. All these strange individuals stared apathetically as the train
slowly passed.

"Indians," muttered Carley, incredulously. "Well, if they are the noble red
people, my illusions are dispelled." She did not look out of the window
again, not even when the brakeman called out the remarkable name of
Albuquerque.

Next day Carley's languid attention quickened to the name of Arizona, and
to the frowning red walls of rock, and to the vast rolling stretches of
cedar-dotted land. Nevertheless, it affronted her. This was no country for
people to live in, and so far as she could see it was indeed uninhabited.
Her sensations were not, however, limited to sight. She became aware of
unfamiliar disturbing little shocks or vibrations in her ear drums, and
after that a disagreeable bleeding of the nose. The porter told her this
was owing to the altitude. Thus, one thing and another kept Carley most of
the time away from the window, so that she really saw very little of the
country. From what she had seen she drew the conviction that she had not
missed much. At sunset she deliberately gazed out to discover what an
Arizona sunset was like just a pale yellow flare! She had seen better than