When Nora, the waitress, took her order, Ann saw that the girl eyed her curiously, possibly sympathetically, and, while that quality could not help but rouse an appreciation in her, she shrank from the thought that this whole strange little town was eying her, wondering about her, dissecting her as she suffered in its midst and even through her loyalty to her husband crept a hope that her true identity might remain secret. She left the table and started for the stairway, when the boy who had given her her room the night before came out of the office. He had not expected to see her. He stopped and flushed and stammered. "You ... last night ... you said you might ... that is, do you want th' automobile, ma'am?" "I shan't want to go out to-day," Ann answered him, forcing her voice to steadiness. "I have changed my mind." Then, she went swiftly up the stairs. She knew that the youth knew at least a part of her reason for altering her plans. She knew that within the hour all Yavapai would know that she was not going to the Sunset mine because Ned Lytton was drunk and hurt, and she felt like crying aloud to relieve the distress in her heart. Her room was hot, its smallness was unbearable and, putting on her hat, she went down the stairs, out of the hotel and, looking up and down the main street, struck off to the left, for that direction seemed to offer the quickest exit from the town. Ann walked swiftly along the hard highway, head down until she had left the last buildings behind. Then she lifted her chin and drew a deep breath of the fine mountain air and for the first time realized the immensity of the surrounding country. Sight of it brought a little gasp of wonder from her and she halted and turned slowly to look about. The town was set in the northern edge of a huge valley which appeared to head in abruptly rising hills not so far to the westward. But to the south and eastward it swept on and out, astonishing in its apparent smoothness, its lavish colorings. Northward, its rise was more decided and not far from the town clumps of brush and scant low timber dotted the country, but out yonder there appeared to be no growth except the grass which, where it grew in rank patches, bowed before the breeze and flashed silver under the brilliant sun. The distances were blue and inviting. She felt as though she would like to start walking and walk and walk, alone under that high blue sky. She strolled on after that and followed the wagon track an hour. Then, bodily weariness asserted itself and she rested in the shade of a low oak scrub, twining grass stalks with nervous fingers. "I would have said that a country like this would have inspired anybody," she said aloud after a time. "But he's the same. He's small, he's small!" Vindictiveness was about her and her tone was bitter. "Still," she thought, "it may not be too late. That other man ... is as big as this...."