Helen woke me up the second or third morning—I can't remember which—calling, "Ted, do look at this wonderful country—we are in New Mexico, dear. Look at it!"
I shook myself awake and climbed out of my berth. Helen was sitting in her dressing gown by the window. I noticed that the skin on her throat looked white and waxy. But I came quickly beside her.
"It is like another world out there."
Sagebrush had begun; in the distance were strange, eerie-looking mountains. Shadows were sharp and hard, with edges that looked as if they had been trimmed with a jackknife.
"It is another planet," I said, as we looked at this weird panorama unfolding before us. "It couldn't have been the same God that made this."
The train stopped with a jerk at some collection of little wooden houses whose gable roofs were squared off by false fronts.
"It's like the Western novels, Ted. Oh, look—there's a real cowboy—by Jove, Ted, he can ride!"
A man in leather chaps rode up to the little station and dismounted with a flourish, I suspect for the benefit of the train. There was, however, no doubt that he and a horse were old acquaintances. Helen made me open the window.
"May I give your horse a lump of sugar?" she called to the man. He looked up surprised, then grinned.
"Sure, lady, if I can coax him alongside of the train."