"No, we came from San Francisco." She checked the words abruptly, as though she had spoken before thought. Then, perhaps finding it necessary to avoid abruptness, she added: "And I broke the plate-holders when I got father into the car--just as we thought we had succeeded! That means it must be done all over again." "Taking photographs, eh?" Murray laughed whimsically. "It seems to me, Miss Lee, that you could take photographs anywhere in this country and they'd be all the same!" "Oh, no indeed! We've been looking for a particular place--well, no matter. There's where father is." She pointed ahead to a patch of green and brown. This was Piute's so-called ranch--a frame shack beside the road, with a few young Lombardy poplars sprouting into the sky, and acres of young pears stretching symmetrically across the desert floor. The dull clank clank of the pumping engine reverberated ceaselessly. No one lived on the place, but Piute Tomkins came out twice a week and had the engine going during these intervals, for irrigation purposes. Experiments of some kind, thought Murray; that explained it very well. The father was a scientist engaged in work here, no doubt. Murray thought at first that the road ended here; then he saw that it continued, an indefinite track winding away over the blazing, sun-white desert surface, winding between outpost yuccas, across to the horizon of this level expanse, as level as a billiard table, swept and garnished by the desert winds. "Oh, he is conscious--and watching us!" exclaimed the girl as she halted the car. Murray leaped out. In the scant shade under the poplars, beside the road, lay the figure of a man, shoulders and head propped up by his rolled-up coat. His open eyes were fastened upon Murray as the latter approached. It was with a distinct mental shock, almost a physical shock, that Murray realized this man was a most unmistakable Chinaman. Then, for the first time, he remembered the tale of the desert rat in Meteorite. So he understood now the shadow in the girl's eyes--yet, he swore to himself that there must be some tremendous error of providence here! He did not look back at the girl; he gave his whole attention to the matter in hand. He heard her voice speaking his name, and saw the man before him make a quiet gesture of acceptance. Then Tom Lee spoke. "My left leg, doctor. The knee is hurt. The pain is severe." Murray saw now, that the strong, masterful, yellow features were beaded with the sweat of pain. He knelt, then glanced up. "A knife, Miss Lee? I shall cut these trousers to avoid causing further suffering----" It was Tom Lee who silently reached into his pocket and produced a knife, which the girl took and opened, handing it to Murray. The latter fell to work.