McClure's Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 1, May 1908

Cassidy has spent the sweltering summer shuttling freight across a sun‑bleached basin, his wheels churning through endless dust and heat. The relentless rhythm of canyon climbs and rocky washes wears on his mind, prompting a mixture of weary humor and bitter reflection as he mutters about the sheer impossibility of his work. Alongside his crew of “blacks” and a rattling trailer, he watches the jagged horizon like a line of sleeping alligators, each rise and fall of the land echoing his own restless thoughts.

When a mirage of water shimmers on the dry lakebed, Cassidy’s frustration erupts into a howl that startles even his companions. He pummels the heat with defiant curses, confronting the desert’s false promise with both bravado and a touch of desperation. A red‑faced drifter appears at the commisary tent that night, demanding his wages and hinting at the restless spirits that roam these parched plains, promising that Cassidy’s journey is far from over.