“Hello, inside,” called Adam, as he halted at the door. No sound answered. He stooped to look in, and saw bare sand floor, a rude, low table made of box boards, flat stones for seats, utensils and dishes, shelves littered with cans and bags. A flimsy partition of poles and canvas, with a door, separated this room from another and larger one. Adam saw a narrow bed of blankets raised on poles, an old valise on the sandy floor, woman’s garments hanging on the brush walls. He called again, louder this time. He saw a flash of something gray through the torn canvas, then heard a low cry--a woman’s voice. Adam raised his head and stepped back. “Elliot!... You’ve come back!” came the voice, quick, low, and tremulous, betokening relief from dread. “No. It’s a stranger,” replied Adam. “Oh!” The hurried exclamation was followed by soft footfalls. A woman in gray appeared in the doorway--a woman whose proportions were noble, but frail. She had a white face and large, deep eyes, strained and sad. “Oh--who are you?” “Ma’am, my name’s Wansfell. I’m a friend of Dismukes, the prospector who was here. I’m crossing Death Valley and I thought I’d call on you.” “Dismukes? The little miner, huge, like a frog?” she queried, quickly, with dilating eyes. “I remember. He was kind, but-- And you’re his friend?” “Yes, at your service, ma’am.” “Thank--God!” she cried, brokenly, and she leaned back against the door. “I’m in trouble. I’ve been alone--all--all night. My husband left yesterday. He took only a canteen. He said he’d be back for supper.... But--he didn’t come. Oh, something has happened to him.” “Many things happen in the desert,” said Adam. “I’ll find your husband. I saw his tracks out here in the sand.” “Oh, can you find him?” “Ma’am, I can track a rabbit to its burrow. Don’t worry any more. I will track your husband and find him.” The woman suddenly seemed to be struck with Adam’s tone, or the appearance of him. It was as if she had not particularly noticed him at first. “Once he got lost--was gone two days. Another time he was overcome by heat--or something in the air.” “You’ve been alone before?” queried Adam, quick to read the pain of the past in her voice. “Alone?... Many--many lonely nights,” she said. “He’s left me--alone--often--purposely--for me to torture my soul here in the blackness.... And those rolling rocks--cracking in the dead of night--and----” Then the flash of her died out, as if she had realized she was revealing a shameful secret to a stranger. “Ma’am, is your husband just right in his mind?” asked Adam. She hesitated, giving Adam the impression that she wished to have him think her husband irrational, but could not truthfully say so. “Men do strange things in the desert,” said Adam. “May I ask, ma’am, have you food and water?” “Yes. We’ve plenty. But Elliot makes me cook--and I never learned how. So we’ve fared poorly. But he eats little and I less!”