He was in the house of the O’Donoju. Could there be more than one family of that unusual name in the desert country; or had fate thrown him a recompense for all he’d suffered by lifting him from a line of chained convicts to carry him through a nightmare straight to the one spot in all the world he most desired to be in? Perhaps under the same roof, near enough to him to permit the carrying of her laughter, was Benicia, the vivid creature who had won his heart into captivity. He was not kept long in suspense. The door opened and Don Padraic’s white clad figure appeared, behind it Benicia. She was in khaki, as Grant had last seen her at the Arizora station, wide-brimmed hat noosed under her chin just as she had come in from a ride through the oasis. All the wild, free spaces of the wilderness seemed compacted in the girl’s trim figure, in the flush of her browned cheeks touched by the sun. “Señor Hickman--” Don Padraic began introduction, but Benicia was at the bedside; her cool hand was given to Grant’s clasp with a gesture of boyish comradeship. “We need not be introduced, father,” Benicia laughed, and there was a queer catch in her throat. “Señor Hickman did me a service on the train which served as the best introduction in the world.” Turning back to Grant--“I did not know, señor, you were the wounded man Quelele brought into our home so early this morning--did not even know we had a guest until my father told me when I returned from my ride a few minutes ago.” Grant strove to put all his heart prompted in words that were mete: “And I did not dare hope that this house to which a miracle has brought me was the desert home you described on the train.” Benicia’s eyes read surely what his lips would not frame. She saw in the white face of the wounded man a touch of that old hardihood and forthright spirit of address which had commended this American to her at first meeting--commended him even against her own impulse to resent his self-assurance. But she saw, too, how suffering battled to dim the valiant spirit, and something deeper than abstract sympathy stirred in her heart. “But, señor, to meet you again this way! Father has told me the message brought from El Doctor: how you were found among dead men on the Hermosillo road and brought back to life by that old Papago. You, a stranger and unknown here in the desert country--how could this happen to you, señor?” Don Padraic interposed: “Perhaps, ’Nicia, when Señor Hickman is stronger he will answer questions. Would it not be better--?” The girl was quick to appreciate her father’s considerate thought. Again she laid her hand in Grant’s.