"No, lad, not a lake," said old Jim, smiling at me; "that's what
haunts the desert traveler. It's only mirage!"

So I awoke to the realization of that illusive thing, the mirage,
a beautiful lie, false as stairs of sand. Far northward a clear
rippling lake sparkled in the sunshine. Tall, stately trees, with
waving green foliage, bordered the water. For a long moment it
lay there, smiling in the sun, a thing almost tangible; and then
it faded. I felt a sense of actual loss. So real had been the
illusion that I could not believe I was not soon to drink and
wade and dabble in the cool waters. Disappointment was keen. This
is what maddens the prospector or sheep-herder lost in the
desert. Was it not a terrible thing to be dying of thirst, to see
sparkling water, almost to smell it and then realize suddenly
that all was only a lying track of the desert, a lure, a
delusion? I ceased to wonder at the Mormons, and their search for
water, their talk of water. But I had not realized its true
significance. I had not known what water was. I had never
appreciated it. So it was my destiny to learn that water is the
greatest thing on earth. I hung over a three-foot hole in a dry
stream-bed, and watched it ooze and seep through the sand, and
fill up--oh, so slowly; and I felt it loosen my parched tongue,
and steal through all my dry body with strength and life. Water
is said to constitute three fourths of the universe. However that
may be, on the desert it is the whole world, and all of life.

Two days passed by, all hot sand and wind and glare. The Mormons
sang no more at evening; Jones was silent; the dogs were limp as
rags.