ed from the scorching plaster. There was no movement, no
sound of human business. The faint hum of the insect, the intermittent
murmur of the guitar, the mellow complainings of the pigeons, the
prolonged purr of the white cat, the contented clucking of the
hens--all these noises mingled together to form a faint, drowsy bourdon,
prolonged, stupefying, suggestive of an infinite quiet, of a calm,
complacent life, centuries old, lapsing gradually to its end under the
gorgeous loneliness of a cloudless, pale blue sky and the steady fire of
an interminable sun.

In Solotari's Spanish-Mexican restaurant, Vanamee and Presley sat
opposite each other at one of the tables near the door, a bottle of
white wine, tortillas, and an earthen pot of frijoles between them. They
were the sole occupants of the place. It was the day that Annixter had
chosen for his barn-dance and, in consequence, Quien Sabe was in fete
and work suspended. Presley and Vanamee had arranged to spend the day in
each other's company, lunching at Solotari's and taking a long tramp in
the afternoon. For the moment they sat back in their chairs, their meal
all but finished. Solotari brought black coffee and a small carafe of
mescal, and retiring to a corner of the room, went to sleep.

All through the meal Presley had been wondering over a certain change he
observed in his friend. He looked at him again.

Vanamee's lean, spare face was of an olive pallor. His long, black hair,
such as one sees in the saints and evangelists of the pre-Raphaelite
artists, hung over his ears. Presley again remarked his pointed beard,
black and fine, growing from the hollow cheeks. He looked at his face,
a face like that of a young seer, like a half-inspired shepherd of
the Hebraic legends, a dweller in the wilderness, gifted with strange
powers. He was dressed as when Presley had first met him, herding his
sheep, in brown canvas overalls, thrust into top boots; grey flannel
shirt, open at the throat, showing the breast ruddy with tan; the waist
encircled with a cartridge belt, empty of cartridges.

But now, as Presley took more careful note of him, he was surprised to
observe a certain new look in Vanamee's deep-set eyes. He remembered now
that all through the morning Vanamee had been singularly reserved.
He was continually drifting into reveries, abstracted, distrait.
Indubitably, something of moment had happened.

At length Vanamee spoke. Leaning back in his chair, his thumbs in