Far off in the distance, it might have been in the air or in his
imagination, there sometimes floated a sound as of faint voices or shouts;
but they came and went, and he listened, and by and by heard no more. The
horses breathed heavily behind their sage-brush stable, and the sun rose
higher and hotter. At last sleep came, troubled, fitful, but sleep,
oblivion. This time there was no lady in an automobile.
It was high noon when he awoke, for the sun had reached around the
sage-brush, and was pouring full into his face. He was very uncomfortable,
and moreover an uneasy sense of something wrong pervaded his mind. Had he
or had he not, heard a strange, low, sibilant, writhing sound just as he
came to consciousness? Why did he feel that something, some one, had
passed him but a moment before?
He rubbed his eyes open, and fanned himself with his hat. There was not a
sound to be heard save a distant hawk in the heavens, and the breathing of
the horses. He stepped over, and made sure that they were all right, and
then came back. Was the girl still sleeping? Should he call her? But what
should he call her? She had no name to him as yet. He could not say, "My
dear madam" in the wilderness, nor yet "mademoiselle."
Perhaps it was she who had passed him. Perhaps she was looking about for
water, or for fire-wood. He cast his eyes about, but the thick growth of
sage-brush everywhere prevented his seeing much. He stepped to the right
and then to the left of the little enclosure where she had gone to sleep,
but there was no sign of life.
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