and
smooth and round; some sweating in the agony of squeezing; some
wrinkled and dry and little, the last drops of life tortured out of
them. Senor Johnson laughed good-humouredly at these toys, puzzled to
explain their fascination for his wife.

"They're sure an amusing enough contraption honey," said he, "but what
makes you stand out there in the hot sun staring at them that way?
It's cooler on the porch."

"I don't know," said Estrella, helplessly, turning her slow, vacant
gaze on him. Suddenly she shivered in a strong physical revulsion. "I
don't know!" she cried with passion.

After they had been married about a month Senor Johnson found it
necessary to drive into Willets.

"How would you like to go, too, and buy some duds?" he asked Estrella.

"Oh!" she cried strangely. "When?"

"Day after tomorrow."

The trip decided, her entire attitude changed. The vacancy of her gaze
lifted; her movements quickened; she left off staring at the desert,
and her rawhide toys were neglected. Before starting, Senor Johnson
gave her a check book. He explained that there were no banks in
Willets, but that Goodrich, the storekeeper, would honour her signature.

"Buy what you want to, honey," said he. "Tear her wide open. I'm good
for it."

"How much can I draw?" she asked, smiling.

"As much as you want to," he replied with emphasis.

"Take care"--she poised before him with the check book extended--"I may
draw--I might draw fifty thousand dollars."

"Not out of Goodrich," he grinned; "you'd bust the game. But hold him
up for the limit, anyway."

He chuckled aloud, pleased at the rare, bird-like coquetry of the
woman. They drove to Willets. It took them two days to go and two
days to return. Estrella went through the town in a cyclone burst of
enthusiasm, saw everything, bought everything, exhausted everything in
two hours. Willets was not a large place. On her return to the ranch
she sat down at once in the rocking-chair on the veranda. Her hands
fell into her lap. She stared out over the desert.

Senor Johnson stole up behind her, clumsy as a playful bear. His eyes
followed the direction of hers to where a cloud shadow lay across the
slope, heavy, palpable, untransparent, like a blotch of ink.

"Pretty, isn't it, honey?" said he. "Glad to get back?"

She smiled at him her vacant, slow smile.

"Here's my check book," she said; "put it away for me. I'm through
with it."

"I'll put it in my desk