dominant, insistent, compelling spirit of the land; a brooding,
dreadful silence; a waiting--waiting--waiting; a mystic call that
was at once a threat and a promise; a still drawing of the line
across which no man might go and live, save those master men who
should win the right.

After a while the engineer, pointing, said: "The line of the
Southwestern and Continental must follow the base of those hills
away over there--is that right, Texas?"

"That'll be about it," the driver answered. "I hear you're goin'
through San Antonio Pass, an' that's to the north. Rubio City lies
about here--" he pointed a little south of east. "Our road runs
through them sand hills that you can see shinin' like gold a-way
over there. Dry River Crossin' is jest beyond. You can see Lone
Mountain off here to the south. Hit'll sure be some warm down there.
Look at them dust-devil's dancin'. An' over there, where you see
that yellow mist like, is a big sand storm. We ain't likely to get a
long one this time o' the year. But you can't tell what this old
desert 'll do; she's sure some uncertain. La Palma de la Mano de
Dios, the Injuns call it, and I always thought that--all things
considerin'--the name fits mighty close. You can see hit's jest a
great big basin."

"The Hollow of God's Hand." repeated the Seer in a low tone. He
lifted his hat with an unconscious gesture of reverence.

The Irishman, as the engineer translated, crossed himself. "Howly
Mither, fwhat a name!"