That deep voice, those words, brought Adam leaping to his feet, transfixed and thrilling. Had he lost his mind? What trick of desert mirage or illusion! No--the burros were real--they kicked up the dust--rattled the pebbles in the sage; no--the man was real, however he seemed a ghost of Adam’s past. “_Dismukes!_” shouted Adam, hoarsely. The prospector halted his long, rolling stride and looked. Then Adam plunged over sand and through sage. He could not believe his eyes. He must get his hands on this man, to prove reality. In a trice the intervening space was covered. Then Adam, breathless and aghast, gazed into a face that he knew, yet which held what he did not know. “Howdy, Wansfell! Thought I’d meet you sooner or later,” said the man. His voice was unmistakable. He recognized Adam. Beyond any possibility of doubt--Dismukes! In the amaze and gladness of the moment Adam embraced this old savior and comrade and friend--embraced him as a long-lost brother or as a prodigal son. Then Adam released him, with sudden dawning consciousness that Dismukes seemed to have no feeling whatever about this meeting. “Dismukes! I had to grab you--just to feel if it was you. I’m knocked clean off my pins,” declared Adam, breathing hard. “Yes, it’s me, Wansfell,” replied Dismukes. His large, steady eyes, dark brown like those of an ox, held an exceeding and unutterable sadness. “Back on the desert? _You!_” exclaimed Adam. “Dismukes, then you lost your gold--bad luck--something happened--you never went to the great cities--to spend your fortune--to live and live?” “Yes, friend, I went,” replied Dismukes. A great awe fell upon Adam. His keen gaze, cleared of the mist of amaze, saw Dismukes truly. The ox eyes had the shadow of supreme tragedy. Their interest was far off, as if their sight had fixed on a dim, distant mountain range of the horizon. Yet they held peace. The broad face had thinned. Gone was the dark, healthy bronze! And the beard that had once been thick and grizzled was now scant and white. The whole face expressed resignation and peace. Those wonderful wide shoulders of Dismukes appeared just as wide, but they sagged, and the old, tremendous brawn was not there. Strangest of all, Dismukes wore the ragged gray prospector’s garb which had been on his person when Adam saw him last. There! the yellow stain of Death Valley clay--and darker stains--sight of which made Adam’s flesh creep! “Ah! So you went, after all,” replied Adam, haltingly. “Well! Well!... Let’s sit down, old comrade. Here on this stone. I confess my legs feel weak.... Never expected to see you again in this world!” “Wansfell, no man can ever tell. It’s folly to think an’ toil an’ hope for the future.” What strong, sad history of life revealed itself in that reply! “Ah!... I-- But never mind what I think. Dismukes, you’ve not been on the desert long.”