t before he turned she put out her hand to touch his violin--her
fingers touched his hand instead.

"Please--just once more," she asked.

He laughed whimsically as he sat down on the box and drew the bow.

"I'm proud of the human race," he said, "that fights for bread and
still looks at the stars."

He began to play: he did not know what. It might have been something
he had heard; but anyway to-night it was his and hers, the song of the
rose that fought the desert all day for its life and then blossomed
with fragrance in the night.

At the sound of the violin a man sitting on the edge of the canal by
the cottonwood trees stirred sharply. There was a guitar across his
knee. He had been waiting for the sound of voices to cease; and now
the accursed fiddle was playing again. He spat vindictively into the
stream.

"Damn the Americano!"

CHAPTER XII

Bob saw as he turned into the Bungalow Court at El Centro a youngish
woman in white sitting on the second porch. In spite of the absence of
the weeds he recognized her as the widow who had come down the street
that other morning to meet Jim Crill. This, then, was Crill's place.
Evidently the twelve months of bereavement had elapsed, and Mrs.
Barnett, having done her full duty, felt that the ghost of her departed
could no longer have any just complaints if she wore a little white of
her own.

Bob had come to see Crill. Since that evening with Imogene Chandler he
had worried a good deal about their being without money. He had tried
to get the ginning company that had advanced his own funds to make them
a loan. But everybody had grown wary and quit lending across the line.
Bob as a last resort had come up to see if Crill could be induced to
help.

"Good morning." Rogeen lifted his straw hat as he stood on the first
step of the porch, and smiled. "Is Mr. Crill at home?"

"No." Mrs. Barnett had nodded rather stiffly in response to his
greeting, and lifted her eyes questioningly. She was waiting for
someone else, and hence felt no cordiality for this stranger, whom she
dimly seemed to remember.

"When will he be in?" The young man was obviously disappointed, and he
really was good to look at.

"I don't know exactly." Mrs. Barnett relented slightly, having glanced
down the road to be sure another machine was not coming. "But as I
attend to much of his business, perhaps if you will tell me what it is
you want I can arrange it for you. Won't you c