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THE MOJAVE DESERT.
Thou white and dried-up sea! so old! So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold! Yes, thou art old and hoary white With time and ruin of all things, And on thy lonesome borders Night Sits brooding o'er with drooping wings .-- JOAQUIN MILLER.
The country had grown steadily more unfriendly ever since leaving Fort Yuma, and the surroundings of Camp Mojave were dreary enough.
But we took time to sort out our belongings, and the officers arranged for transportation across the Territory.

Some had bought, in San Francisco, comfortable travelling-carriages for their families.

They were old campaigners; they knew a thing or two about Arizona; we lieutenants did not know, we had never heard much about this part of our country.

But a comfortable large carriage, known as a Dougherty wagon, or, in common army parlance, an ambulance, was secured for me to travel in.