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White, Stewart Edward, 1873-1946

"Arizona Nights"

I suppose a man absorbs a good deal that way.
Anyhow, it always seemed to help.

We were now pretty hungry, and, as we walked along the shore, we
began to look for turtles or shellfish, or anything else that
might come handy. There was nothing. Schwartz wanted to stop
for a night's rest, but Denton and I knew better than that.

"Look here, Schwartz," said Denton, "you don't realise you're
entered against time in this race--and that you're a damn fool to
carry all that weight in your clothes."

So we dragged along all night.

It was weird enough, I can tell you. The moon shone cold and
white over that dead, dry country. Hot whiffs rose from the
baked stones and hillsides. Shadows lay under the stones like
animals crouching. When we came to the edge of a silvery hill we
dropped off into pitchy blackness. There we stumbled over
boulders for a minute or so, and began to climb the steep shale
on the other side. This was fearful work. The top seemed always
miles away. By morning we didn't seem to have made much of
anywhere. The same old hollow-looking mountains with the sharp
edges stuck up in about the same old places.

We had got over being very hungry, and, though we were pretty
dry, we didn't really suffer yet from thirst.


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