I
seemed to have a vague but clinging hope that, after the trouble was
over, there might be--there _must_ be--something more between us.
Steele was not at our rendezvous among the rocks. The hour was too late.
Among the few dim lights flickering on the outskirts of town I picked
out the one of his little adobe house but I knew almost to a certainty
that he was not there. So I turned my way into the darkness, not with
any great hope of finding Steele out there, but with the intention of
seeking a covert for myself until morning.
There was no trail and the night was so black that I could see only the
lighter sandy patches of ground. I stumbled over the little clumps of
brush, fell into washes, and pricked myself on cactus. By and by
mesquites and rocks began to make progress still harder for me. I
wandered around, at last getting on higher ground and here in spite of
the darkness, felt some sense of familiarity with things. I was probably
near Steele's hiding place.
I went on till rocks and brush barred further progress, and then I
ventured to whistle. But no answer came. Whereupon I spread my blanket
in as sheltered a place as I could find and lay down. The coyotes were
on noisy duty, the wind moaned and rushed through the mesquites.
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