It is situated rather flatly between two ranges of mountains and when Polly Street landed there at about six o'clock--a trying hour in itself--it was in the grip of a sand-storm. One's first sand-storm is always a surprise. It looks so innocent from behind a window pane; just sand--blowing about rather swiftly, whirling in spirals, beating against the glass, piling itself up in drifts--an interesting sight but not a terrifying one. Polly had been a little surprised to see the fat ladies array themselves in goggles before descending from the train, and had laughingly refused an offer of his own from Juan Pachuca, who promptly put them on himself. But when she alighted from the train onto the platform which extended from the rear end of the general merchandise store, and which served as station, waiting parlor and baggage-room, she gasped in dismay. It was as though thousands of tiny pieces of glass had struck her in the face and throat. Before she could get her breath they struck her again and again; sharp, vindictive, piercing little particles they were. She shut her eyes and put her hands to her bare throat to protect it. Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm and Juan Pachuca's voice said: "Keep them shut and let me lead you. I told you what sand-storms were--you'd better have taken the goggles." Polly succumbed and felt herself being led along the platform. "There, we're in the store," said the young man. "Rather nasty, eh?" "Awful! I never felt anything like it," gasped the girl, shaking the sand from her clothes. "And it isn't sand, it's gravel. No wonder you wear goggles!" "I find them most convenient for many purposes," was the reply. Polly noticed that he still had them on though they were in the store. They gave him a queer, oldish appearance and quite spoiled his good looks. Polly herself was beginning to feel disturbed. She wanted Bob and she wanted him immediately. She looked about her anxiously. The store was larger than it appeared from without and carried a varied line of goods piled up on shelves or displayed on counters. On one side, it seemed to be a grocery store; on the other, dry-goods, shoes, and hats were set forth, while in the rear were saddles, bridles and other paraphernalia in leather. A big stove in the middle of the room gave out a cheerful warmth, for the air was growing very cool as the sun went down. There were a few people, Mexicans and Indians, in the place and they all stared curiously at the pretty American. Polly did not realize, though she was not in the habit of underrating her attractions, how very noticeable she was in that environment, as she stood there, her tan traveling coat thrown open showing her dainty white waist, her short, trim skirt with its big plaid squares, and her neat brown silk stockings and oxfords. Conejo had not seen her like in many moons and it stared its full. "I think Bob would be at the station. If I could go there----" Polly began, with a little lump in her throat.