Every one of his intense words had been burned into Adam’s sensitive mind in characters and meanings never to be forgotten. Dismukes had found eager and fertile soil for the planting of the seeds of his toil-earned philosophy. The effect upon Adam was profound, and so wrought upon his emotions that the black and hateful consciousness which had returned to haunt him was as but a shadow of his thought. Adam stared out into the night where Dismukes had vanished. Something great had happened. Was the man Dismukes a fanatic, a religious wanderer of the wasteland, who imagined he had found in Adam an apt pupil, or who had preached a sermon because the opportunity presented? No! The prospector had the faith to give out of his lesson of life on the desert. His motive was the same as when he had risked much to follow Adam, staggering blindly across the hot sands to his death. And as Adam felt the mounting passion of conviction, of gratitude, his stirred mind seemed suddenly to burst into a radiant and scintillating inspiration of resolve to be the man Dismukes had described, to fight and to think and to remember as had no one ever before done on the desert. It was all that seemed left for him. Repentance! Expiation! True to himself at the last in spite of a horrible and fatal blunder!
“Oh, Guerd! Guerd, my brother!” he cried, shuddering at the whisper of that name. “Wherever you are in spirit—hear me!... I’ll rise above wrongs and hate and revenge! I’ll remember our boyhood—how I loved you! I’ll atone for my crime! I’ll never forget.... I’ll fight and think to save my soul—and pray for yours!... Hear me and forgive—you who drove me out into the wastelands!”
CHAPTER IX
Adam lay awake for some length of time, waiting for Dismukes to return, but he did not come. Adam at length succumbed to drowsiness. It was Dismukes’s call that awakened him. The sun already tipped the eastern range, rosy red, and all the open land lay fresh and colorful in the morning light. Adam felt no severe effects from his hard experience, except an inordinate hunger, which Dismukes was more disposed to appease. Still he cautioned Adam not to eat too much.
“Now, Wansfell, you must learn all about burros,” began Dismukes. “The burro is the most important part of your outfit. This desert would still be a blank waste, unknown to white man, if it had not been for those shaggy, lazy, lop-eared little donkeys. Whenever you get sore at one an’ feel inclined to kill him for some trick or other, just remember that you could not get along without him.
“Most burros are alike. They hang near camp, as you see mine, hopin’ they can steal a bite of somethin’ if you don’t give it to them. They’ll eat paper, or ‘most anythin’ except greasewood. They love paper off bacon. I had one once that ate my overalls. They never get homesick an’ seem contented in the most desolate places. I had a burro that was happy in Death Valley, which’s the hell hole of this wasteland. Burros are seldom responsive to affection. They’ll stand great abuse. Never expect any thanks. Always patient. They are usually easy to catch. But they must know you. Only way to catch them is to head them off. Then they stop. Young burros are easily broke an’ will follow others. They must be driven. Never knew but one that I could lead. Don’t forget this. They have the most wonderful endurance—never stumble or fall—an’ can exist on practically nothin’. When you turn them loose they’ll nibble around awhile, then stop an’ stand like rocks, never movin’ for hours an’ hours, as if they were wrapped in prehistoric thought. In the mornin’ when you start off on your day’s travel the burros are fresh an’ they drive fine. But in the afternoon, when they get tired, they think of tricks. They’ll lie down—roll over on a pack—knock against a rock or tree. They’ll get together in a bunch to tangle the packs. When a burro intends to lie down he humps his back an’ wriggles his tail. It’s hard to get burros across streams. Scared of water! Strange, isn’t that? I’ve had to carry my burros many a time. But they’ll climb or go down the steepest, roughest mountain trail without fear. They can slide down a steep slope that a man will not stick on. Burros have more patience and good qualities, an’ also cussedness, than any other beasts. They pick out pardners an’ stick together all the time. A big bunch of burros will pair off regardless of sex. Never give each other up! They bray at night—an awful sound till you get used to it. Remember this quick some night when you’re lifted out of a sleep by a terrible unearthly roar.... Well, I guess that’s an introduction to desert burros. It’s all serious fact, Wansfell, as you’ll learn, an’ to your cost, unless you remember.”
How singular for Adam to have the closing words of Dismukes reveal the absorbing interest of this simple and practical talk about burros! It amazed Adam to find that he had even been amused, ready to laugh.
“I’ll remember,” he asserted, with conviction.
“Dare say you will,” replied Dismukes, “but the idea is you must remember before you get in trouble, not after. I can’t tell you when to know a burro is goin’ to trick you. I’m just givin’ you facts as to the nature of burros in general. You must study an’ learn them yourself. A man could spend his life studyin’ burros an’ then have lots to learn. Most prospectors lose half their time trackin’ their burros. It’s tryin’ to find burros that has cost many a desert man his life. An’ this is why, if you’ve chosen the desert to live in, you must learn the habits of the burro. He’s the camel of this Sahara.”