The air was growing lighter, changing to pink. Blake looked around him at the passing juniper-bushes and said slowly, “She won’t think I’ve gone. Not till this afternoon. I said I wouldn’t be coming home; she’ll think I went with you.” “But when she finds out?” “I’ll tell her myself. I’ll telegraph something, and then I think she’ll be too proud to send after me. Don’t you worry; I’m not worried. Isn’t this great? Isn’t it? Let me drive awhile.” “We’re going to wash as soon as we reach the river,” Gin said flatly, “colds or no colds.” The sun was high when they came to the bridge and they took turns bathing, hidden more or less from the highway by a bush. Afterwards they had coffee in Albuquerque and sent a telegram to Mary: “GONE TO MEXICO HEALTHY WRITING DO NOT WORRY LOVE BLAKE.” “There,” said Blake, “that looks perfectly reasonable. Now she won’t worry.” Teddy drove out of town, while Gin sat in the back and watched him, wondering what he was thinking about it all. Was he enjoying it, or was he beginning to be sorry? His face reflected in the mirror was impassive and close-lipped. She stared at it until her eyes closed under the brightening sun, and she slept. They stopped at last in a field and lay down in their coats on the ground to sleep, surrounded by stumpy bits of yellow grass growing in the dry soil. Gin dreamed that she was back at her desk in the office in Indiana, typing. A long complicated dream it was, with a dreary wretched atmosphere about it. It was even worse than the real thing had been. She woke in a bad mood; the relief that flooded through her when she found herself lying in a field with her shoulder dented by a rock couldn’t dispel the eerie horror of it. She looked at her watch: it was only noon. Shifting quietly, she lifted the edge of her coat and put it over her head to keep the sun from giving her more bad dreams. A burro was grazing a few yards away. He raised his head as she raised hers, and they looked at each other for some seconds with similar expressions of sun-drenched drowsiness. He sighed and dropped his head to the grass again. Vaguely comforted, she lay down and went to sleep. They got up at four, because they had seen signs advertising a rodeo at Magdalena. This meant going forty miles out of the road to El Paso, but as Blake pointed out, they had the rest of their lives ahead of them. They drove into town at eight o’clock, when the whole place in the ordinary course of events would be going to bed. Tonight, however, it was different: the dusty streets were trampled with thousands of hoof-marks and people swarmed along the side of the road. Cowboys in blue jeans crowded the stores and leaned against the doors, picking their teeth. Four or five cars were parked on the main street, and in front of the post office a group of Indians sat on the ground, waiting for excitement.