"Is it—it ain't—it can't be another mirage, can it?"
Joe gave a loud, joyous laugh and cracked his whip over the backs of the horses. He had had time to look again and he was satisfied.
"Mirage nothin'!" he exulted, "nary a mirage this time! Can't you smell it? Can't you taste it? Can't you feel the moisture in the air? You bet your life this isn't a mirage, it's the real thing, shade, water, grass, trees! And it ain't far off either!"
By this time the blur of bluish haze had developed into a tone of decided green, and there was no more doubt that trees and water were in sight. Mr. Peniman was stooping forward gazing intently.
"I was told that there was a river not far from here," he said to his wife, "and I think it should be in just about this location. It is called by the Indian name 'Minne-to-wauk-pala,' or Blue Waters."
"I don't care what it is called," said Mrs. Peniman, laughing joyously, "if it is only there. I don't think I could stand another shock like that mirage."
"You won't have to, my dear," said Mr. Peniman, his face lighting, "for, look, we can begin to see the trees and water now."
CHAPTER XIV
THE NEW HOME
No promised land of Paradise ever looked fairer to longing eyes than looked the scene that lay before the parched and weary travelers as they approached the Minne-to-wauk-pala or Blue Waters.