In his past were tucked away months on end of tramping across deserts and up mountain defiles with a packed burro nipping patiently along in front of him and this same, seductive dream beckoning him over the next horizon.

Burros had been slow.

While he hurtled down the road from Pinnacle to Lund, Casey pictured himself plodding through sand and sage and over malapai and up dry canyons, hazing a burro before him.
"No, sir, the time for that is gone by.

I could do in a week now what it took me a month to do then.

I could get into country a man'd hate to tackle afoot, not knowing the water holes.