The next
day they crossed the Panamint itself.
"That's a smart looking valley," observed the dentist.
"NOW you're talking straight talk," returned Cribbens, sucking his
mustache. The valley was beautiful, wide, level, and very green.
Everywhere were herds of cattle, scarcely less wild than deer. Once or
twice cowboys passed them on the road, big-boned fellows, picturesque
in their broad hats, hairy trousers, jingling spurs, and revolver
belts, surprisingly like the pictures McTeague remembered to have seen.
Everyone of them knew Cribbens, and almost invariably joshed him on his
venture.
"Say, Crib, ye'd best take a wagon train with ye to bring your dust
back."
Cribbens resented their humor, and after they had passed, chewed
fiercely on his mustache.
"I'd like to make a strike, b'God! if it was only to get the laugh on
them joshers."
By noon they were climbing the eastern slope of the Panamint Range. Long
since they had abandoned the road; vegetation ceased; not a tree was in
sight. They followed faint cattle trails that led from one water hole to
another. By degrees these water holes grew dryer and dryer, and at three
o'clock Cribbens halted and filled their canteens.
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