Those hills
way over yonder to the northeast are the Telescope hills."
"What do you call the desert out yonder?" McTeague's eyes wandered over
the illimitable stretch of alkali that stretched out forever and forever
to the east, to the north, and to the south.
"That," said Cribbens, "that's Death Valley."
There was a long pause. The horses panted irregularly, the sweat
dripping from their heaving bellies. Cribbens and the dentist
sat motionless in their saddles, looking out over that abominable
desolation, silent, troubled.
"God!" ejaculated Cribbens at length, under his breath, with a shake of
his head. Then he seemed to rouse himself. "Well," he remarked, "first
thing we got to do now is to find water."
This was a long and difficult task. They descended into one little
canyon after another, followed the course of numberless arroyos, and
even dug where there seemed indications of moisture, all to no purpose.
But at length McTeague's mule put his nose in the air and blew once or
twice through his nostrils.
"Smells it, the son of a gun!" exclaimed Cribbens. The dentist let the
animal have his head, and in a few minutes he had brought them to the
bed of a tiny canyon where a thin stream of brackish water filtered over
a ledge of rocks.
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