Reality showed me desolate mountains gleaming bare in the sun, long lines of red bluffs, white sand dunes, and hills of blue clay, areas of level ground--in all, a many-hued, boundless world in itself, wonderful and beautiful, fading all around into the purple haze of deceiving distance.
Thin, clear, sweet, dry, the desert air carried a languor, a dreaminess, tidings of far-off things, and an enthralling promise.

The fragrance of flowers, the beauty and grace of women, the sweetness of music, the mystery of life--all seemed to float on that promise.

It was the air breathed by the lotus-eaters, when they dreamed, and wandered no more.
Beyond the Little Colorado, we began to climb again.

The sand was thick; the horses labored; the drivers shielded their faces.

The dogs began to limp and lag.