For awhile he watched a Joshua palm that looked oddly like a giant man with one arm hanging loose at its side and another pointing fixedly at a distant, black-capped butte standing aloof from its fellows.

Casey was tired after his night on the trail.

Easy living in town had softened his muscles and slowed a little that untiring energy which had balked at no hardship.

He was drowsy, and his brain stopped thinking logically and slipped into half-waking fancy.
The Joshua seemed to move, to lift its arm and point more imperatively toward the peak.

Its ungainly head seemed to turn and nod at Casey.
What did the darned thing want?
Casey would go when he, got good and ready.