And he could not shut out the picture of her sitting in the corner of the
room, silent, with bowed head, while the man to whom she was pledged hung
close over her. That memory had a sting. It was like a spark of fire
dropped on the wound in his breast where the desert-hawk had struck him.
It was like a light gleaming on the sombre line he was waiting to cross.
XIV
WOLF
ON the anniversary of the night Mescal disappeared the mysterious voice
which had called to Hare so often and so strangely again pierced his
slumber, and brought him bolt upright in his bed shuddering and
listening. The dark room was as quiet as a tomb. He fell back into his
blankets trembling with emotion. Sleep did not close his eyes again that
night; he lay in a fever waiting for the dawn, and when the gray gloom
lightened he knew what he must do.
After breakfast he sought August Naab. "May I go across the river?" he
asked.
The old man looked up from his carpenter's task and fastened his glance
on Hare. "Mescal?"
"Yes."
"I saw it long ago." He shook his head and spread his great hands.
"There's no use for me to say what the desert is.
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