The Vanishing American: Flagertown, the first Western town Marian had ever been in, was not at all like what she had imagined it would be. Her impressions of the West had come from books and motion pictures, which mediums, she was to learn, did not always ring true to life. It was a thriving little city, bustling with motorcars and active over its lumber, railroad, and cattle interests…. She breathed deeply of the keen air. And the strong pitchy smell of pine began to stimulate her. (Chapter II)
Down Into the Desert: We arrived in Flagstaff on March thirty-first, a cold, windy day. At seven thousand feet winter had not surrendered to spring. How white the snow shone on the mountains!