"I thought somebody said the desert was lonesome," said Roger to himself. "Me--I run a regular wayside inn." He lighted his pipe and sat down on the well curb to wait. Gradually he discerned that the pink parasol, undulating now against the sapphire of the sky, now against the dancing yellow of a sand drift, was upheld by a woman who sat astride a tiny burro. It was ten minutes after he discovered this that the lady rode majestically into the camp and dismounted, with magnificent gesture, throwing one leg over the burro's drooping head. The three burros who were strung behind her stopped in their tracks as though half dead. Roger rose and doffed his hat. This was the largest woman he ever had seen. She was easily three inches taller than Roger and splendidly proportioned, huge of shoulder, broad of hip, but without an ounce of fat upon her. Her face was gaunt and brown: thin lips, long thin nose, gray eyes set deep, iron gray hair straggling over her forehead from under a dusty pink sunbonnet. She wore a linen duster buttoned close to her chin. "How do you do, sir," she said in a pleasantly modulated voice. "My name is Clarissa Foster von Minden." "Mine is Roger Moore. Won't you come into the cook tent and let me get you some lunch?" "Yes, thank you," looking about her with keen interest. "This is the place." Roger, lighting the gasoline stove, looked at his caller inquiringly. She smiled at him as she pulled off her sunbonnet and dust coat, revealing a robe of pink calico not unlike an old fashioned "mother hubbard." "I am a disciple of the Yogis, Mr. Moore. I dreamed that my husband was to be found in such a camp as this and here I am." "I suppose you're referring to Otto von Minden. Yes, he was here yesterday. He's a genial soul. He tried to shoot me." Mrs. von Minden nodded. "That's Otto. He had those ways. I've not seen him for five years. No bacon, Mr. Moore. I never touch animal fats. Just some tea, fruit and crackers. Later, I'll unpack some olive oil which you may use when cooking for me." Roger nearly dropped the tea kettle. His mouth fell open as he stared at his caller. "Don't be startled, my friend," she cried. "Great things are to come to you if you obey the Voices. And I've brought my own tent and supplies." "But your husband isn't here, madam," protested Roger. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't have him about the place. He's just plain crazy." "Oh, no, he's not crazy. He's had a touch of the sun, undoubtedly. But he's not crazy. He's a brilliant man. I can make him very useful to you." Roger scratched his head and grinned. "You haven't by any chance had a touch of the sun yourself, Mrs. von Minden?" The lady laughed. "I must seem so to an outsider. You are still on the first plane while I am on the seventh." "I'll water the burros while the kettle boils," said Roger hastily. He provided plentifully for the poor brutes, at the same time gazing desperately toward the ranch house. He felt badly in need of advice.