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Updated: May 16, 2025
The Hardy band had gathered about the burning buildings in a close ring, ready to shoot down any one the instant he showed himself. The situation looked hopeless. "Stay in there if yuh want to!" a voice shouted outside. "Burn up, or take lead! It's all the same to us!" The heat-tortured Scotty staggered to his feet and groped toward one of the plunging, screaming horses.
The town of Lost Springs if such a tiny settlement could have been called a town sprawled in a valley of cottonwoods, a scattering of low-roofed adobes. To find such an oasis, after traveling the heat-tortured wilderness to the east or the west, was such relief to the wayfarer that few missed stopping.
Then the stifling silence settles down over the City of Dreadful Night. The kites on the Minar sleep again, snoring more loudly, the hot breeze comes up in puffs and lazy eddies, and the Moon slides down towards the horizon. Seated with both elbows on the parapet of the tower, one can watch and wonder over that heat-tortured hive till the dawn. 'How do they live down there? What do they think of?
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