The blossoming stalks waved in the wind, and black bees
circled round them.
"Mescal, I've always wanted to see the Flower of the Desert from which
you're named. It's beautiful."
Hare broke a dead stalk of the cactus and was put to instant flight by a
stream of bees pouring with angry buzz from the hollow centre. Two big
fellows were so persistent that he had to beat them off with his hat.
"You shouldn't despoil their homes," said Mescal, with a peal of
laughter.
"I'll break another stalk and get stung, if you'll laugh again," replied
Hare.
They traversed the remaining slope of the plateau, and entering the head
of a ravine, descended a steep cleft of flinty rock, rock so hard that
Silvermane's iron hoofs not so much as scratched it. Then reaching a
level, they passed out to rounded sand and the river.
"It's a little high," said Hare dubiously. "Mescal, I don't like the
looks of those rapids."
Only a few hundred rods of the river could be seen. In front of Hare the
current was swift but not broken. Above, where the canyon turned, the
river sheered out with a majestic roll and falling in a wide smooth curve
suddenly narrowed into a leaping crest of reddish waves.
Pages:
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310