stretched in isolated chains or single groups; but in the other, the
end was reached, and beyond lay the unbroken waste of the Panhandle.

Swaying on his great legs as with the weakness of an infant, he was
now very near the end of the system. A wall of granite, sparsely
dotted with green, rose above him to a height of about three hundred
and fifty feet. The length of this range was perhaps six miles, its
thickness a mile. Concealed among these ridges, he might be safe,
but it was no longer possible for him to stand erect; to climb the
difficult ledges would be impossible.

He sank to the ground, his eyes red and dimmed. For some time he
remained there inert, staring, his brain refusing to work. If
yonder stood a white object, between him and the mountain, a curious
white something with wheels, might it not be a covered wagon? No,
it was a mirage. But was it possible for a mirage to deceive him
into the fancy that a wagon stood only a few hundred feet away?
Perhaps it was really a wagon. He stared stupidly, not moving.
There were no dream-horses to this ghost-wagon. There was no sign
of life. If captured by the Indians, it would not have been left
intact. But how came a wagon into this barren world?

He stared up at the sun as if to assure himself that he was awake,
then laughed hoarsely, foolishly. The wagon did not melt away. He
could crawl that far, though in stretching forth his arm he might
grasp but empty air. He began to crawl forward, but the wagon did
not move. As it grew plainer in all its details, a new strength
came to him. He strove to rise, and after several efforts,
succeeded. He staggered forward till his hands grasped one of the
wheels. The contact cleared his brain as by a magic touch. It was