lothes standing before the empty fire-place
wasn't civilized at all, at least not at that moment. I couldn't see the
woman, only the top of her head above the back of a big chair, but as
I came in I heard her say, 'Hush!--Jim!--please!' and I noticed that
what I could see of her hair was of that fine true gold you so seldom
find. The man stopped in the middle of a sentence and swayed on his
feet, then he looked over at me and came toward me with a sort of
bulldog, inquiring look. He was a big, red-faced, blond chap, about
forty, I should say, who might once have been handsome. He wasn't now,
and it didn't add to his beauty that he was quite obviously fairly
drunk. 'Well?' he said, and blocked my way.

"'I'm a friend of Henry Martin's,' I answered. 'I've got a letter for
you.' I was beginning to get pretty angry.

"'Henry Martin?' He laughed unsteadily. 'You'd better give it to my wife
over there. She's his friend. I hardly know him.' I don't know when I'd
seen a man I disliked as much at first sight.

"There was a rustle from the other side of the room, and Mrs. Whitney
came toward us. I avoided her unattractive husband and took her hand,
and I understood at once whatever civilizing influences there were
about the bungalow we were in. Did you ever do that--ever step out
of nowhere, in a wild sort of country, and meet suddenly a man or a
woman who might have come straight from a pleasant, well-bred room
filled with books and flowers and quiet, nice people? It's a sensation
that never loses its freshness. Mrs. Whitney was like that. I wouldn't
have called her beautiful; she was better; you knew she was good and
clean-cut and a thoroughbred the minute you saw her. She was lovely,
too; don't misunderstand me, but you had more important things to think
about when you were talking to her. Just at the moment I was wondering
how any one who so evidently had been crying could all at once greet a
stranger with so cordial a smile. But she was all that--all nerve; I
don't think I ever met a woman quite like her--so fine, you understand."

Hardy paused. "Have any of you chaps got a cigarette?" he asked; and I
noticed that his hand, usually the steadiest hand imaginable, trembled
ever so slightly. "Well," he began again, "there you are! I had tumbled
into about as rotten a little, pitiful a little tragedy as you can
imagine, there in a God-forsaken desert of Arizona, with not a soul
about but a Chinaman, a couple of Scotch station