Furthermore, the nights had been hot and the mosquitoes a humming torment.

And as a last affliction he was called upon to keep the diary going.

He did it, faithfully enough but in a fashion of his own.
First he read back a few pages to get the hang of the thing.

Then he shook down Cash's fountain pen, that dried quickly in that heat.

Then he read another page as a model, and wrote: June 19.
Mosquitoes last night was worse than the heat and that was worse than Gila Bend's great white way.