Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1923-03-28

emerged from the sand, and here were
glittering lizards in the morning light,
still asleep. The heavens were CLASSY.
A wind held from the northwest, and
the nostrils of the beasts were Stung
to bleeding by the sand. Grit had
sifted into Cons clothing, next to his
skin, and riding was a hardship. Dust
grated in his teeth.
That night Andrew March lit the
watch-fire and it was Cons time for
sleep. Their world was empty, sound
less, infinite, unknown. March did
not call Lexington at two in the morn
ing, as agreed, but permitted his young
friend to sleep until dawn. None
could have known the reverieS of this
unusual man in the midnight hours
thoughts as remote as the stars, and
as hard TO gage. He had loved life,
and the sweets Of it had been taken
from him long ago. 1t had feen diff
cult for him to pass through Picking,
city of his birth and earliest influence.
The quest that had drawn his father
Stephen as boy, across the American
plains, onward across the Pacific, and
yet onward to China Picking and the
dread Sha Mo was wrought into the
very texture of the mind and soul of
the son, Andrew. The yearning of
his mother was woven there, also, as
she had hoped, loved, prayed, resented,
and finally mourned for Stephen until
he returned, late by two years. This
Cobb desert mastered him. The heart
of China would not let him go. He
could not live down the terrors that
Picking had stamped upon him in in
fancy. Now he looked long at Con,
sleeping beside the fire, relaxed, grace
full, breathing steadily, something boy
ish and pure about him. Andrew
MARGINS eyes shut against sudden
tears. He arose silently and walked
out, away from the camels, so far that
the fire was only red spark to him.
The night spaces whispered in vague
conspiracy, At daybreak the whole
world was without color, only dead
gray hills and gullies, rocks and
shadows and vacant air. Lexington
" akened glanced up at Andrew, who
was making the morning tea; and it
Sc med as if the air were powdered
with the delicate rooty aroma that Con
| associated with John Lexington and
all manner of evil fate. Then he
realized that the faint spice of it was
clinging about March. He said moth
ing but it was a black moment for
him.
They studied their map, and held a
! field compass beside it. Their diff
Guilty was to hold direction, by rea-
son of the twisted formation of desert
surfaces. Each crooked line of rise
or dip misled the eye, and the camels
persisted in staying low, preferring to
pass around a hill rather than take
the safe straight line across it.
March was watchful, usually silent.
For their third camp they halted in
| little valley wedge, out of the gale.
All night the sand sifted in upon them,
like gray snow, out this was preferable
to facing the whip of it on the levels
above
The fourth day they saw different
formation of rock. Closer, it showed
to be the collapse of a city, yet one
in no wise related to the villages they
had left behind, for these buildings
had once been of solid gray rock.
Strangely, through crack in the mid
die of a slab came the greeniSh-yellOW
line of a fame. 1t was gas from the
depths of the world, and it burned
slowly, waving like a transparent
plume in the sheltered place. OF all
that city of long ago, this eternal flame
remained.
The walls had been shaken down
with terrible age; every block of stone
was rounded smoothly by the blowing
sand. The original level of the city
had been much below the present
Lexington shivered. He felt around
him the faded life of another time,
lingering human shadows tied to the
stones. March moved solemnly over
the tumbled pile, pausing before the
languid green fire issuing from the
| rock. In the emptiness overhead they
saw bird, high up and black, sailing
steadily, watching these two white in
truders upon his dominion. seeming to
wait with perfect patience until they
should perish, and leave to him once
more the crumbling, forgotten empire.
Now, the black bag contained a saw
ing grace-the razor, holy instru-
ment, keen with decency. Con rubbed
bit of fat over his jaws and scraped
with JUNCTION. Water was too precious
to waste in lather. The oil was toler-
able and cleansing. His cheeks were
taut, the line Of chin and jaw wildly
marked. Sometimes his thoughts
seemed about to surprise the ending
of the story that Bill the cook had not
finished that night in Elopura harbor,
Sometimes he talked to March of the
mother he had never known. Yearn-
ing came to the surface, eagerness for
far trails and nameless destination.
Distance was to him like the thought
of home to other men. The horizon,
shrouded afar, drew him on.
In this rhythm Of desert travel, his
body did not wear down any further
hut went into a state resembling that