“Why not be sensible and stay with me to-night while you think it all over?” suggested Miss Van Arsdale.

“Thank you,” returned the other with an unexpected and baffling change to the amenable and formal “You are very kind.  I’d be delighted to.”

“Pack up your things, then, and I’ll bring an extra horse from the town.  I’ll be back in an hour.”

The girl went up to Banneker’s room, and got her few belongings together.  Descending she found the agent busy among his papers.  He put them aside and came out to her.

“Your telegram ought to get off from Williams sometime to-morrow,” he said.

“That will be time enough,” she answered.

“Will there be any answer?”

“How can there be?  I haven’t given any address.”

“I could wire Williams later.”

“No.  I don’t want to be bothered.  I want to be let alone.  I’m tired.”

He cast a glance about the lowering horizon.  “More rain coming,” he said.  “I wish you could have seen the desert in the sunshine.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Will you?” he cried eagerly.  “It may be quite a while.”

“Perhaps Miss Van Arsdale will keep me, as you wouldn’t.”

He shook his head.  “You know that it isn’t because I don’t want you to stay.  But she is right.  It just wouldn’t do....  Here she comes now.”

Io took a step nearer to him.  “I’ve been looking at your books.”

He returned her gaze unembarrassed.  “Odds and ends,” he said.  “You wouldn’t find much to interest you.”

“On the contrary.  Everything interested me.  You’re a mystery—­and I hate mysteries.”

“That’s rather hard.”

“Until they’re solved.  Perhaps I shall stay until I solve you.”

“Stay longer.  It wouldn’t take any time at all.  There’s no mystery to solve.”  He spoke with an air of such perfect candor as compelled her belief in his sincerity.

“Perhaps you’ll solve it for me.  Here’s Miss Van Arsdale.  Good-bye, and thank you.  You’ll come and see me?  Or shall I come and see you?”

“Both,” smiled Banneker.  “That’s fairest.”

The pair rode away leaving the station feeling empty and unsustained.  At least Banneker credited it with that feeling.  He tried to get back to work, but found his routine dispiriting.  He walked out into the desert, musing and aimless.

Silence fell between the two women as they rode.  Once Miss Welland stopped to adjust her traveling-bag which had shifted a little in the straps.

“Is riding cross-saddle uncomfortable for you?” asked Miss Van Arsdale.

“Not in the least.  I often do it at home.”

Suddenly her mount, a thick-set, soft-going pony shied, almost unseating her.  A gun had banged close by.  Immediately there was a second report.  Miss Van Arsdale dismounted, replacing a short-barreled shot-gun in its saddle-holster, stepped from the trail, and presently returned carrying a brace of plump, slate-gray birds.