If she went on she must meet him presently. She glanced back over her
shoulder, noting how far she had come from the town. It was very still
again; the bell had ceased its complaint; the hoofs of the approaching
horse seemed shod with felt, falling upon felt. She swung about and
walked back toward San Juan.
A little later she heard the man's voice, calling. Clearly to her,
since there was no one else. Why should he call to her? She gave no
sign of having heard, but walked on a trifle faster. She sensed that
he was galloping down upon her; still in the loose sand the hoof-beats
were muffled. Then when he called a second time she stopped and turned
and waited.
A splendid big fellow he was, she noted as he came on, riding a
splendid big horse. Man and beast seemed to belong to the desert; had
it not been for the glint of the sun she realized now, she probably
would not have distinguished their distant forms from the land across
which they had moved. The horse was a darkish, dull gray; the man,
boots, corduroy breeches, soft shirt, and hat, was garbed in gray or so
covered with the dust of travel as to seem so.
"What in the world are you doing way out here?" he called to her. And
then having come closer he reined in his horse, stared at her a moment
in surprised wonderment, swept off his hat and said, a shade awkwardly:
"I beg pardon.
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