As he knelt and was about to lift her head he espied a huge, black, hairy spider crawling out of the folds of her gray gown. It was a tarantula, one of the ugliest of the species. Adam flipped it off with his hand and killed it under his boot. Then with basin of water and wetted scarf he essayed to bring Mrs. Virey back to consciousness. She did not come to quickly, but at last she stirred, and opened her eyes with a flutter. She seemed to be awakening from a nightmare of fear, loathing, and horror. For that instant her sight did not take in Adam, but was a dark, humid, dilated vision of memory. “Magdalene, I killed the tarantula,” said he. “It can’t harm you now.... Wake up! Why, you’re stiff and you look like--like I don’t know what!... You fainted and I’ve had a time bringing you to.” “Oh!” she cried. “It’s you.” And then she clung to him while he lifted her, steadying her upon her feet, and placed her on the stone bench. “So I fainted?... Ugh! That loathsome spider! Where is it?” “I covered it with sand,” he replied. “Would it have--bitten me?” “No. Not unless you grasped it.” Slowly she recovered and, letting go of him, leaned back in the seat. Crystal beads of sweat stood out upon her white brow. Her hair was wet. Her sensitive lips quivered. “I’ve a perfect horror of mice, bugs, snakes, spiders--anything that crawls,” she said. “I can’t restrain it. I inherited it from my mother.... And what has mind got to do with most of a woman’s feelings? Virey has finally found that out.” “Virey!... What do you mean?” rejoined Adam. “I was leaning back here on the bench when suddenly I heard Virey slipping up behind me. I knew he was up to something. But I wouldn’t turn to see what. Then with two sticks he held the tarantula out over me--almost in my face. I screamed. I seemed to freeze inside. He dropped the tarantula in my lap.... Then all went black.” “Where--is he now?” asked Adam, finding it difficult to speak. “He’s in the shack.” Adam made a giant stride in that direction, only to be caught and detained by her clinging hands. Earnestly she gazed up at him, with melancholy, searching eyes. He uttered a loud laugh, mirthless, a mere explosion of surcharged breath. “No!... I can’t get angry. I can’t be a man any more. This Death Valley and the sun--and you--have worked on my mind.... But I’ll tell you what--nothing can stop me from beating Virey--so he’ll never do that again.” “Ah!... So I’ve worked on your mind? Then it’s the only great deed I ever did.... Wansfell, I told you Virey has threatened to shoot you. He’s meant to more than once, but when you have come he has been afraid. But he might.” “I wish to heaven he’d try it,” responded Adam, and, loosing the woman’s hold upon his hands, he strode toward the shack.