It Pays to Advertise

EACH year more and more people are following the highways and the byways, the skyways and the steelways of streamlined trains, our servants of good travel, into this delectable Empire of the Sun, seeking the joy, the rest, the recreation and relaxation associated with Winter in the Old West.

Elsewhere the snows pile deep and the winds hiss around street corners and moan beneath the gables of shivering houses. Elsewhere winter grips the land in iron gauntlets, blue cold with ice, and the sun is a weak fellow, with no warmth or strength, smiling a feeble smile through clouds thick with winter's snarl.

In other places the calendar changes the months in an ominous tone, where the arrival of December, January, February, March and sometimes even April and May envisions tempestuous Nature in more furious moods, and where the clump of goloshes marks the time of passing days. Such is the winter of distant places, less favored than Arizona, less fortunate than our Old West in the Empire of the Sun. Out here Winter is a blessed season. Our sun is a stout fellow and from skies of cobalt and sapphire his merry twinkle sets all the world a'tingle, and his robust and joyous personality pervades every blade of grass, every tall saguaro, every rambling cowtrail stumbling over the hills.

OUR land is the land of the sunshine, the land of desert, the land of the amethyst mountains. When you spend your Winter in the Old West you have all of southern and central Arizona to choose from, and much of northern Arizona has that delightful winter climate that beckons. Winter of snow and cold comes only to our high mountains. Only our loftier peaks and higher elevations wear coats of ermine, and' they do so proudly, for theirs is a noble mission. They seem to stand like mighty guardians against the storms that come with winter and in their strong arms they seize the storms challenge and struggle evervictoriously to protect the pleasant valleys and the desert below. Here is the snow drift on the mountainside, whose silence is broken by the breaking of a snowheavy twig on the pinetree or the happy shout of a figure on skies gliding rhythmically through the alabaster of snow and sunlight. Down here below, but an hour or so away, is that glorious admixture of winter-spring-summer. and along a trail rides a couple of carefree people whose wide hats shade their faces from the sun, their horses munching occasional patches of grass, their faces reflecting the joyousness of their surroundings and the exhilaration of bright, sundrenched out-of-doors in the Old West. From the high mountains in morning comes the zestful freshness in the air, invigorating and enlivening to the valleys and desert below. This is the kind of air one would like to bottle and have for all time, for no other air on earth is quite like it. It is the desert and the mountains and the sky and sunlight all mixed up and its label is "Arizona."