They walked without speaking for several minutes, enjoying a sense of
comradeship hardly in keeping with the brevity of their acquaintance; a
freedom from restraint spared them the necessity of exchanging small-talk,
that frequently irritating toll exacted as tribute to possible friendship.

The desert lay white and palpitating beneath the noonday glare, and from
the outermost rim of desolation came dancing "dust-devils" whirling and
gliding through the mazes of their eerie dance. "I think sometimes," said
Judith, "that they are the ghosts of those who have died of thirst in the
desert."

Mary shuddered imperceptibly. "How do you stand it with never a glimpse of
the sea?"

"You'll love it, or hate it; the desert is too jealous for half measures.
As for the sea"--Judith shrugged her fine shoulders--"from all I've heard of
it, it must be very wet."

Each felt a reticence about broaching the subject uppermost in her
thoughts--Judith from the instinctive tendency towards secretiveness that
was part of the heritage of her Indian blood; Mary because the subject so
closely concerned this girl for whom she felt such genuine admiration.

Judith finally brought up the matter with an abruptness that scarce
concealed her anxiety.

"You saw my brother yesterday at Mrs. Clark's eating-house; will you be
good enough to tell me just what happened?"

Mary related the incident in detail, Judith cross-examining her minutely
as to the temper of the men at table towards Jim. Did she know if any
cattle-men were present? Did she hear where her brother had gone?

Mary had heard nothing further after he had left the eating-house; the
only one she had talked to had been Mrs. Clark, whose sympathy had been
entirely with Jim. Judith thanked her, but in reality she knew no more now
than she had heard from Major Atkins.

Judith now stopped in their walk and stood facing the road as it rolled
over the foot-hills--a skein of yellow silk glimmering in the sun. Then
Mary saw that the object spinning across it in the distance, hardly bigger
than a doll's carriage, was the long-delayed stage. She spoke to the
postmistress, but apparently she did not hear--Judith was watching the
nearing stage as if it might bring some message of life and death. She
stood still, and the drooping lines of her figure straightened, every
fibre of her beauty kindled. She was like a flame, paling the sunlight.

And presently was heard the uncouth music of sixteen i