in a country which had thename of Cerabaro, or Zerabora.
This young man was Dick Gale, but not the listless traveler, nor the lounging wanderer who, two months before, had by chance dropped into Casita. Friendship, chivalry, love--the deep-seated, unplumbed emotions that had been stirred into being with all their incalculable power for spiritual change, had rendered different the meaning of life. In the moment almost of their realization the desert had claimed Gale, and had drawn him into its crucible. The desert had multiplied weeks into years. Heat, thirst, hunger, loneliness, toil, fear, ferocity, pain--he knew them all. He had felt them all--the white sun, with its glazed, coalescing, lurid fire; the caked split lips and rasping, dry-puffed tongue; the sickening ache in the pit of his stomach; the insupportable silence, the empty space, the utter desolation, the contempt of life; the weary ride, the long climb, the plod in sand, the search, search, search for water; the sleepless night alone, the watch and wait, the dread of ambush, the swift flight; the fierce pursuit of men wild as Bedouins and as fleet, the willingness to deal sudden death, the pain of poison thorn, the stinging tear of lead through flesh; and that strange paradox of the burning desert, the cold at night, the piercing icy wind, the dew that penetrated to the marrow, the numbing desert cold of the dawn.
Beyond any dream of adventure he had ever had, beyond any wild story he had every read, had been his experience with those hard-riding rangers, Ladd and Lash. Then he had traveled alone the hundred miles of desert between Forlorn River and the Sonoyta Oasis. Ladd's prophecy of trouble on the border had been mild compared to what had become the actuality. With rebel occupancy of the garrison at Casita, outlaws, bandits, raiders in rioting bands had spread westward. Like troops of Arabs, magnificently mounted, they were here, there, everywhere along the line; and if murder and worse were confined to the Mexican side, pillage and raiding were perpetrated across the border. Many a dark-skinned raider bestrode one of Belding's fast horses, and indeed all except his selected white thoroughbreds had been stolen. So the job of the rangers had become more than a patrolling of the boundary line to keep Japanese and Chinese from being smuggled into the United States. Belding kept close at home to protect his family and to hold his property. But the three rangers, in fulfilling their duty had incurred risks on their own side of the line, had been outraged, robbed, pursued, and injured on the other. Some of the few waterholes that had to be reached lay far across the border in Mexican territory. Horses had to drink, men had to drink; and Ladd and Lash were not of the stripe that forsook a task because of danger. Slow to wrath at first, as became men who had long lived peaceful lives, they had at length revolted; and desert vultures could have told a gruesome story. Made a comrade and ally of these bordermen, Dick Gale had leaped at the desert action and strife with an intensity of heart and a rare physical ability which accounted for the remarkable fact that he had not yet fallen by the way.
On this December afternoon the three rangers, as often, were separated. Lash was far to the westward of Sonoyta, somewhere along Camino del Diablo, that terrible Devil's Road, where many desert wayfarers had perished. Ladd had long been overdue in a prearranged meeting with Gale. The fact that Ladd had not shown up miles west of the Papago Well was significant.
The sun had hidden behind clouds all the latter part of that day, an unusual occurrence for that region even in winter. And now, as the light waned suddenly, telling of the hidden sunset, a cold dry, penetrating wind sprang up and blew in Gale's face. Not at first, but by imperceptible degrees it chilled him. He untied his coat from the back of the saddle and put it on. A few cold drops of rain touched his cheek.
He halted upon the edge of a low escarpment. Below him the narrowing valley showed bare, black ribs of rock, long, winding gray lines leading down to a central floor where mesquite and cactus dotted the barren landscape. Moving objects, diminutive in size, gray and white in color, arrested Gale's roving sight. They bobbed away for a while, then stopped. They were antelope, and they had seen his horse. When he rode on they started once more, keeping to the lowest level. These wary animals were often desert watchdogs for the ranger, they would betray the proximity of horse or man. With them trotting forward, he made better time for some miles across the valley. When he lost them, caution once more slowed his advance.
The valley sloped up and narrowed, to head into an arroyo where grass began to show gray between the clumps of mesquite. Shadows formed ahead in the hollows, along the walls of the arroyo, under the trees, and they seemed to creep, to rise, to float into a veil cast by the background of bold mountains, at last to claim the skyline. Night was not close at hand, but it was there in the east, lifting upward, drooping downward, encroaching upon the west.
Gale dismounted to lead his horse, to go forward more slowly. He had ridden sixty miles since morning, and he was tired, and a not entirely healed wound in his hip made one leg drag a little. A mile up the arroyo, near its head, lay the Papago Well. The need of water for his horse entailed a risk that otherwise he could have avoided. The well was on Mexican soil. Gale distinguished a faint light flickering through the thin, sharp foliage. Campers were at the well, and, whoever they were, no doubt they had prevented Ladd from meeting Gale. Ladd had gone back to the next waterhole, or maybe he was hiding in an arroyo to the eastward, awaiting developments.
Gale turned his horse, not without urge of iron arm and persuasive speech, for the desert steed scented water, and plodded back to the edge of the arroyo, where in a secluded circle of mesquite he halted. The horse snorted his relief at the removal of the heavy, burdened saddle and accoutrements, and sagging, bent his knees, lowered himself with slow heave, and plunged down to roll in the sand. Gale poured the contents of his larger canteen into his hat and held it to the horse's nose.
- the great caravan routes entering the Sahara from the south.
- a peak of energy from the show. That was my second performance
- was because out in the Pacific on lonely nights, after
- adopted son (Martin) who leaves home and begins wandering
- the light upon them. They led upward. He mounted cautiously,
- old New York Herald Tribune, Glaser has designed The Village
- services — an activity she continued when her family
- school in Wisconsin. There a nun taught him to play the
- his boys had deserted, for a hunting party from the bungalow
- a wry wit while telling how he began his career as a painter,
- he replies matter-of-factly. I can't stand it anywhere
- the world. Out of that study has come a map of world music.
- and ran like a hare, her yellow silk dress gleaming in
- lady, even Tallulah Bankhead didn't do the things you did
- and also many people in the Middle East, feel that this
- well as the East Side. … In terms of apartment house
- forest, and utters very peculiar noises) has not cried
- of writers. The new writers wanted to bring in their own
- mosquelike Cultural Center at Columbus Circle as an example
- public. That's what I always aim for. My music is sincere.
- and ran like a hare, her yellow silk dress gleaming in
- years. His work with the magazine led to his first book
- of shyness to it, Moriarty's penetrating eyes reveal that
- Anna herself attends up to nine performances a week during
- with stating that they were poor natives of the place,
- I have time for one more question: Is the acting life
- for Westsider Lenore Kasdorf, who portrays the popular
- The reason for the title Made In America, says Maas is
- could trust. To them he explained his plans and the rich
- In the mid-1960s, Anna wrote an article on a major dance
- a meeting with Lee at the Marvel headquarters on Madison
- The coffee shop that had provided those sandwiches was
- or that other infinitely more beautiful flower who wandered
- II. I'm in Paris for a week and London for about three
- like going to the movies and seeing a commercial. Television,
- Leonard was born on the West Side, moved to New Jersey
- barter. Money was scarcely worth anything, but their eagerness
- In the dressing room prior to a performance, without his
- gypsies, which Montoya performs with dazzling speed and
- reported that she operated within a relatively narrow
- the catacombs. Max glanced at the white face of Helen Cumberly,
- introduced the vibraphone into jazz. This he accomplished
- early 1960s and continues today owes more of a debt to
- by her throaty voice and by the red sweater that covers
- slowly toward the north—he said nothing of the party
- than, for example, New Yorkers of different backgrounds.
- from Yale in 1943, he enlisted in the Navy and served for
- actor or actress, I want very much to help realize their
- the ray of light from Max's lamp impinged upon the opening
- fighting. … The book allows me to comment on the United