‘You’re not going--you’re not going back?’ ‘Back into Mexico?’ the other laughed. ‘I thought, perhaps--’ ‘Why, you don’t seem to believe I like it here,’ Bart chuckled. ‘Pretty near everything a man could want--’ Just words, perhaps, Elbert thought. He didn’t see how Bart could forget. He couldn’t have, if he had been in Bart’s place. ‘Oh, yes, I like to look and listen around here,’ the big fellow went on, ‘and back in that tunnel there’s a message for you and me all right, but no hurry, as you say. We’ll wait a little longer for that. A whole lot of times down in Sonora I’ve wondered just how it would feel to turn loose in an American town--Tucson, for instance.’ ‘I’ll be stopping off in Tucson,’ Elbert allowed. * * * * * That day they rode down to San Forenso and left the horses at Mort Cotton’s ranch. Elbert planned to take the night train. ‘I’ll stay on with Mort for a day or so,’ Bart said. ‘I might hunt you up in Tucson, if I get there before you leave. They say there’s a hotel there--’ ‘The Santa Clara,’ said Elbert. He looked back toward Mort’s corral, as the old cattleman was bringing the rig to take him to the station. He moved to the gate and let himself in. Mamie walked toward him, but halted with lifted head, in the afternoon light, as he had seen her the first day, only now her coat was faded by many sweats and suns. Her head lifted higher. She was listening for something no one else could possibly hear-- ‘One more listening mare,’ Elbert whispered. Her forehead presently bumped his shoulder. Farther off the sorrel stake-horse was sniffing at the cracks in Mort’s hay-shed. ‘I’ll be coming back, Mamie. Oh, yes, I’ll be coming back--’ XXX TUCSON AGAIN IT wasn’t a dappled gray this time, but one of the same breed. Elbert was abroad in the streets of Tucson, long before the city was astir, his train having set him down at an unseemly hour. He passed a harness shop and peered in through the window, where his eye encountered the cocked ears and pointed head of a wooden horse. Evidently its place was the sidewalk, daytimes, being wheeled into the shop at closing-hour on castors. It was as if he were in the Plaza at Los Angeles again. It was more: like a man coming back to find his old nursery unchanged. Elbert’s lips moved. ‘Wouldn’t Mamie shy if she passed that palfrey on a lonely road?’ * * * * * His hand pained. He was clutching the arm of a rocking-chair. He had left a network of invisible foot-tracks over two sections, at least, of the city of Tucson. The day was now advanced to eight-thirty in the morning, and he was back in his room at the Santa Clara. His strong, blackened fingers relaxed on the oak. He arose and pulled down both outer windows. He went to the hall-door to feel that it was locked. He took off coat and vest, wiped the sweat from his forehead, called a number at the telephone. ‘May I speak with Miss Gertling?’