Yeah, I'll have to git me a swell outfit uh clothes.

I'll look the part, all right---" Up a long, winding trail and over another summit to Yucca Pass Casey dreamed, while the stark, scarred buttes on either side regarded him with enigmatic calm.

Since the first wagon train had worried over the rough deserts on their way to California, the bleak hills of Nevada had listened while prospectors dreamed aloud and cackled over their dreaming; had listened, too, while they raved in thirst and heat and madness.
Inscrutably they watched Casey as he hurried by with his twenty-five thousand dollars and his pleasant pictures of soft ease.
At a dim fork in the trail Casey slowed and stopped.

A boiling radiator will not forever brook neglect, and Casey brought his mind down to practical things for a space.

"I can just as well take the train from Lund," he mused, while he poured in more water.