Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1893-02-22
PERIL OF THE WHITE DEATH.
The Dreaded Storms which Work De-
struction In Sand Hills.

The white death is naked, gleam-
ing, shifting flood of sand, moving
ever inland from the ocean shore, inch
by inch. foot by foot, in huge white
waves of glistening grit. memorable as
fate, silent as the grave, swallowing
and destroying everything that lies in
its way The wind blows the shifting
surface up the crest of each towering
wave and over the edge in a sparkling
mist. Beyond the crest the dry mist
falls, and so the wave moves steadily,
resistlessly forward, enyeloping all
things in universal white. Stand
ing at the edge of Il marshy fiat, the
eye looks far away across the level OF
coarse sedge grass to the white line OF
the sand hills and the black line Of
pine woods in the distance. Here and
there the Hat is lush and green, where
shallow lakes. blooming with white
lilies and blue arrow heads, battle the
arid soil; here and there it is burned
yellow and brown, where the hot,
smooth sand. stretching in from the
ocean shore drinks up water and life
and leaves all dead. The level Hat,
reaching far away into the distance, is
like the plane of life one has to travel;
the black streak of n gloomy pine
woods is the valley of shadows, and
the white waving line of sand is like
ness OF DEATH and, rs in real life, so
says Harper's Magazine, is it here
neither death nor its shadow looks sim
lister seen from such distance.
To travel across the level fiat is
mimic image of the journey of life.
The mimic lakes. so pretty in the dis
lance, are muddy and smell rank and
dank to the nostrls; they are full OF
tadpoles and lizards and crawling
things. Here and there little deserts
of arid sand are passed; they burn the
soles of the feet and scorch the face
with a reflected glare, and mosquitoes
rise in clouds, like petty troubles, to
bite and sting. There are quicksands
under the feet where the grass looks
ing the dead levels of sand, a mirage
covers the desolation with a soulless
sheet of visionary water.
First come the hot black shadows
the shadows of the pines-and then
the foothills as it were of death All
Is GREATNESS silence. except for the
shrieking of the fish hawk high in the
air and the mysterious whispering OF
the ceaselessly moving and shifting
sand. Here and there stark gray
tree trunk, already dead in the clutch
OF the oncoming death, reaches help
less skeleton arms up into the air.
Each is an empty, hollow shell of bark;
each is soulless and void of life, ex-
cepting, perhaps, for a nest of wood
peckers or of mice-a squalid me-
tempsychosis of the spirit of the pine
tree.
Beyond the foothills lies, grim and
still, the silent bosom of the white
death-hills and valleys of lifeless
sand, binding, burning, parched and
dry. The breathless curtain of silence
stretches between the glare of the sky
above and the whispering whiteness
beneath. The sliding feet sink deep
into the shifting surface, and the trav-
eler stands face to face with lsrafael
in smile. So the gates of death are
passed and the journey is ended.
Then suddenly, as the head rises
above the crest of the last white wave,
all is instantly transformed. The last
hill is climbed with painting breath,
and then death itself is left behind.
Before the eye there stretches away
the eternal ocean, a glorious purple
sparkling with dancing white caps and
dotted with shining sails. Tue cease
less surf shouts jubilantly on the
beach and the cool. pure air rushes
upward, bathing the hot face like a
newer aud purer life. The ocean, the
all -
something vast and limitless that lies
beyond. Behind was left the limited
plain, bounded by the black shadows
and the white death. Before is an
Image of limitless immensely.