There was
nothing but some scattering adobe shacks, with the usual complement of
saloons, and as far almost as the eye could see in every
direction,--sand--hot, glaring, burning sand. To the far northwards,
could be dimly observed the outlines of the Mogollon range of
mountains. The population consisted chiefly of about four hundred
dare-devil spirits who had started to wander westwards in search of the
El Dorado and had finally settled there, too tired, too disgusted to go
any farther, and lacking money enough to return to their homes. It
wasn't the most congenial crowd in the world. There was only one good
thing in the place, and that was a deep well of pure sparkling water.
The sun during the day was so scorching that the rails seemed to sizzle
as they stretched out like two slender, interminable bands of silver
over the hot sands, and at night no relief was apparent, and the office
so stifling hot that my existence was well nigh unbearable. But the pay
was ninety dollars per month and I hung on until I could save funds
enough to get back to God's own country.
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