r remember Stewart in
a way strange to her constant thought of him. To the left inclined the
gray valley. The red desert was hidden from view, but the Guadalupe
Mountains loomed close in the southwest.

Opposite Chiricahua, where the road forked, Link Stevens headed the car
straight south and gradually increased speed. Madeline faced another
endless gray incline. It was the San Bernardino Valley. The singing of
the car, the stinging of the wind warned her to draw the hood securely
down over her face again, and then it was as if she was riding at night.
The car lurched ahead, settled into that driving speed which wedged
Madeline back as in a vise. Again the moments went by fleet as the
miles. Seemingly, there was an acceleration of the car till it reached a
certain swiftness--a period of time in which it held that pace, and then
a diminishing of all motion and sound which contributed to Madeline's
acute sensation. Uncovering her face, she saw Link was passing another
village. Could it be Bernardino? She asked Link--repeated the question.

"Sure," he replied. "Eighty miles."

Link did not this time apologize for the work of his machine. Madeline
marked the omission with her first thrill of the ride. Leaning over, she
glanced at Link's watch, which he had fastened upon the wheel in front
of his eyes. A quarter to ten! Link had indeed made short work of the
valley miles.

Beyond Bernardino Link sheered off the road and put the car to a long,
low-rising slope. Here the valley appeared to run south under the dark
brows of the Guadalupes. Link was heading southwest. Madeline observed
that the grass began to fail as they climbed the ridge; bare, white,
dusty spots appeared; there were patches of mesquite and cactus and
scattering areas of broken rock.

She might have been prepared for what she saw from the ridge-top.
Beneath them the desert blazed. Seen from afar, it was striking enough,
but riding down into its red jaws gave Madeline the first affront to her
imperious confidence. All about her ranch had been desert, the valleys
were desert; but this was different. Here began the red desert,
extending far into Mexico, far across Arizona and California to the
Pacific. She saw a bare, hummocky ridge, down which the car was
gliding, bounding, swinging, and this long slant seemed to merge into a
corrugated world of rock and sand, patched by flats and basins, streaked
with canyons and ranges of ragged, saw-toothed stone. The di