Then thought of his lifelong work with the glands would soothe him, and his kindly eyes would smile. He never could untwist the brains of the generation with his efforts, he knew, but he could lay a foundation for his successors to build upon. So Dr. Inman Shonto was a great mind. A pessimist to the core, as are most thinkers who search for the eternal truths, he nevertheless worked for the betterment of what he considered hopeless conditions, and wooed optimism while he worked. Well, he would perform the operation. The deck was stacked against him. In order to save Youth this time he needs must bow to the whims of cantankerous Old Age. But he would make an effort to save that girl, whoever she might be, from the consequences of this iniquitous passion. He would take her away from her poverty to the city and give her a chance in life--he would take her to Charmian and place her under that influence. He would rob this twitching old David of the ewe lamb that he lusted for! He had reached the ranch blindfolded. Morley had told him of the rancher’s cravings, but he had not divulged his name. When the operation was over and his services no longer needed, he would be taken out on the desert, blindfolded again, and left to find his own way to the nearest habitation. Leach and Morley would direct him, they promised, but would ride away and leave him for their own protection. Well, never mind! (Still pacing back and forth, back and forth.) He would get to the bottom of this thing. He would save that girl! * * * * * Two days more had passed. Through the little window Dr. Inman Shonto saw that the desert was overhung with clouds. Up over the mountains they were voluminous and black. He believed that it was snowing up there. Every day, perhaps, the mantle of white was being spread deeper and deeper over the land. The stretch of chaparral between Dewlap Mountain and the Valley of Arcana would become impassable. One could not crawl under the branches with the ground covered with snow; and until the snow had reached a depth of twelve feet one could not snowshoe over the tops. Still no sign of the man who had gone to send the telegram. * * * * * Midnight, with Shirttail Henry wrapped in his blankets beside the spring in the calico buttes, and Lot’s Wife dozing in the background. Lot’s Wife snorted and scrambled to her feet. Shirttail Henry stirred, blinked his mild blue eyes, and sat erect. He felt beside him, assured himself that the new rain gauge was safe, and spoke thus to Mrs. Lot: “Quit snorin’, ass, and go to sleep!” But as he finished the words he heard the thumping of a horse’s feet. Instantly he flung himself from his blankets and stood in a listening attitude. The burro’s twelve-inch ears were nearly touching at the tips and her mouseskin muzzle quivered. Her ears pointed the direction from which the horse was approaching.