We squatted on the floor of the refrigerator box. When we reached Yuma my pal rose to his feet.
"Ain't yer goin' ta throw yer feet fer a hand-out?" he asked me.
"No, I'm going to stick in here till I reach El Paso, if I can."
"What's the fun bein' a bum, if you're goin' ter punish yerself like that!"
"I want to find a country where there's growing green things, as soon as I can."
"So long, then."
"So long.. don't you think you'd better stick till we reach Tuscon? Some of the boys told me the 'bulls' (officers) here have been 'horstile' (had it in for the tramp fraternity) ... ever since a yegg bumped off a deputy, a while back."
"Naw, I'll take my chances."
As I rode on, alone, I stood up and took in the scenery like a tourist ... there danced away, and gathered in, the shimmering, sun-flooded desert ... an endless flat expanse of silver sage and sentinel cactus. I saw bleached bones and a side-cast skull with whitened horns, poking up into the sky ... I saw a sick steer straggling alone, exactly like some melodramatic painting of Western life ... the kind we see hanging for sale in second-rate art stores.