"Yes," he said, when she had spoken, "you're on the right track. We are going to wait a few minutes to make sure. If some one was following and wanted you and me, he could have had no object in hanging back, spying on us. But if that same gent were following Mexicali Joe, he would want to hang back, trusting to Joe to lead him to something worth coming at. So, out of your _feeling_ I've built my theory: That this gent thinks all the time he's trailing Joe, and doesn't know we are here at all; tracks in the rocky trail wouldn't show him whether one or a dozen had gone over it. And I get to this point: How did this gent pick up Joe's trail in the dark? And I answer it by saying that he could have known that Joe had a dugout up here, and so lay in wait for him. And, that being true, by now he would be sure that Joe was going straight to his camp, and so, at almost any moment, he would give up his sneak-thief style of travelling and would come hurrying along. And, if that's right, you and I can get a glimpse of this new hombre before he does of us. It may come in handy, you know," he concluded dryly, "to get the first swing at him if he's an ugly gent with a rifle. At short range, and in the dark, and stepping lively, this club of mine is way up. And, if we can take his rifle from him ... why, then into the wilderness we go, without fear of starving. Which is a long speech for the end of a perfect day, but I'm right!" So insistent was he and so utterly weary she, they drew a few lagging steps out of the trail, and sank down in the shadows. She lay flat; she saw the stars swimming in the deepening purple; her eyes closed; she felt two big tears of exhaustion slip out between the closed lids. There was a faint drumming in her ears; she no longer cared for food. ... "Get up!" Deveril was saying curtly. "I guess we're both wrong. And I'm going to eat, if the devil drops in to join us." She didn't think she had been asleep. Nor yet that she had fallen prey to swift, all-engulfing unconsciousness. Only that she had been in a mood of utter indifference to all earthly matters. She tried, when he commanded the second time, to rise. He helped her. She sat up.... She saw a little sprinkling of sparks tossed upward from Joe's chimney; stars at first she thought them--stars wavering and blurred and uncertain. "We've waited long enough," said Deveril. She rose wearily, making no answer. He went ahead, she followed. Her whole body cried out for rest; this brief, altogether too brief, lingering had stiffened her and made her sore from head to foot. She saw that Deveril was going up the steep trail slowly; he still strove for caution, no doubt planning to burst in unexpectedly upon Mexicali Joe. For Joe might have a gun there in his dugout; and he might have no great stock of provisions and be of no mind to share with others. So she, too, strove for silence.... A strangely familiar odor was afloat on the night air ... coffee! Joe's coffee was boiling.