ce and began, with subconscious hope, the long vigil she
was to keep. She stared out on the road over which he had passed. If he
came back he would be visible from this place by the window.

Hours passed and her face became blank, as the desert became blank. The
light seemed to die everywhere. The little home beacons abroad in the
desert were blotted out one by one. Eagle Pass became a ghostly group of
houses from which the last vestiges of life vanished. She became stiff and
inert as she sat in her place with her eyes held dully on the road. Once
she dozed lightly, to awaken with an intensified sense of tragedy. Had
Harboro returned during that brief interval of unconsciousness? She knew
he had not. But until the dawn came she sat by her place, steadfastly
waiting.

CHAPTER XXX

When Harboro went down the stairs and out of the house he had a purposeful
air which vanished as soon as his feet were set on the highway. Where was
he going? Where _could_ he go? That beginning he had made usually ended in
the offices across the river. But he could not go to his office now. There
was nothing there for him to do. And even if he were able to get in, and
to find some unfinished task to which he could turn, his problem would not
be solved. He could not go on working always. A man must have some
interests other than his work.

He pulled himself together and set off down the road. He realized that his
appearance must be such that he would attract attention and occasion
comment. The foundations of his pride stiffened, as they had always done
when he was required to face extraordinary difficulties. He must not allow
casual passers-by to perceive that things were not right with him. They
would know that he and Sylvia were having difficulties. Doubtless they had
been expecting something of the sort from the beginning.

He seemed quite himself but for a marked self-concentration as he walked
through the town. Dunwoodie, emerging from the Maverick bar, hailed him as
he passed. He did not hear--or he was not immediately conscious of
hearing. But half a dozen steps farther on he checked himself. Some one
had spoken to him. He turned around. "Ah, Dunwoodie--good evening!" he
said. But he did not go back, and Dunwoodie looked after him meditatively
and then went back into the bar, shaking his head. He had always meant to
make a friend of Harboro, but the thing evidently was not to be done.

Harboro was scarcely conscious of the f