Robert J. Horton

IT was morning, high and clear as Arizona counts weather, and around the little railroad station were gathered a crowd of curious onlookers; seven Indians, three women from near-by shacks-drawn thither by the sight of the great private car that the night express had left on a side track-the usual number of loungers, a swarm of children, besides the station agent who had come out to watch proceedings.

— from The man of the desert