no land to till, no mineral to dig, their very poverty was their
protection. With an air of grim finality, they declared strongly
that as they had always been they would always remain; and, at the
beginning of my story, save for that one, slender, man-made trail,
their hoary boast had remained unchallenged.

Steadily, but with frequent rests on the grades, Jefferson Worth's
outfit climbed toward the summit and a little before noon gained the
Pass. The loud, rattling rumble of the wagon as the tires bumped and
ground over the stony, rock-floored way, with the sharp ring and
clatter of the iron-shod hoofs of the team, echoed, echoed, and
echoed again. Loudly, wildly, the rude sounds assaulted the
stillness until the quiet seemed hopelessly shattered by the din.
Softly, tamely, the sounds drifted away in the clear distance;
through groves of live oak, thickets of greasewood, juniper,
manzanita and sage; into canyon and wash; from bluff and ledge;
along slope and spur and shoulder; over ridge and saddle and peak;
fainting, dying--the impotent sounds of man's passing sank into the
stillness and were lost. When the team halted for a brief rest it
was in a moment as if the silence had never been broken. Grim,
awful, the hills gave no signs of man's presence, gave that creeping
bit of life no heed.

At Mountain Spring--a lonely little pool on the desert side of the
huge wall--they stopped for dinner. When the meal was over, Texas
Joe, with the assistance of Pat, filled the water barrels, while the
boy busied himself with the canteen and the Seer and Jefferson Worth
looked on.

"'Tis a dhry counthry ahead, I'm thinking'," remarked the Irishman