“I have lived in this part of the world all but two or three years of my life,” said Norton at the end, “and yet I never heard of these particular caves until a very few days ago.  I don’t believe that there are ten people living who know of them; so Galloway, hiding his stuff out there was playing just as safe as a man can play—­when he plays the game crooked, anyway.”

“But won’t he guess something when he misses Moraga?”

“I don’t think so.”  Norton shook his head.  “Tom Cutter and Brocky made Moraga talk.  His job was to keep an eye on this end, but he was commissioned also to make a trip over to the county line.  The first thing Jim Galloway will hear will be that Moraga got drunk and into a scrape and was taken in by Sheriff Roberts.  Then I think that Galloway himself will slip out of San Juan himself some dark night and climb the cliffs to make sure.  When he finds everything absolutely as it was left, when time passes and nothing is done, I think he will replace Moraga with another man and figure that everything is all right.  Why shouldn’t he?”

From Galloway and Moraga they got back to a discussion of the ancient peoples of the desert, venturing surmise for surmise, finding that their stimulated fancies winged together, daring to construct for themselves something of the forgotten annals of a forgotten folk who, perhaps, were living in walled cities while old Egypt was building her pyramids.  Then, abruptly, in a patch of tall mesquite, Norton reined in his horse and stopped.

“You understand why I must leave you here,” he said.  “Yonder, beyond those trees straight ahead . . . you will see it from that little ridge . . . is Las Estrellas, a town of a dozen houses.  But before you get there you will come to the house where old Ramorez, a half-breed, lives.  You remember; if you are missed in San Juan, Struve will say that you have gone to see Ramorez.  He is actually sick by the way; maybe you can do something for him.  His shack is in those cottonwoods, this side of Las Estrellas.  You’ll find Ignacio there, too; he’ll go back to San Juan with you.  And, once again, thank you.”

He put out his hand; she gave him hers and for a moment they sat looking at each other gravely.  Then Norton smiled, the pleasant boyish smile, her lips curved at him deliciously, he touched his hat and was gone.  And she, riding slowly, turned Persis toward Las Estrellas.

From Las Estrellas, an unkempt, ugly village strangely named, it was necessary to ride some fifteen miles through sand and scrub before coming again into San Juan.  Virginia Page, sincerely glad that she had made her call upon old Ramorez who was suffering painfully from acute stomach trouble and whose distress she could partially alleviate, made the return ride in the company of Ignacio.  But first, from Ramorez’s baking hovel, the Indian conducted her to another where a young woman with a baby a week old needed her.  So it was well on in the afternoon and with a securely established alibi that she rode by the old Mission and to the hotel.  As Ignacio rode listlessly away with the horses, as innocent looking a lazy beggar as the world ever knew, Virginia caught a glimpse of a white skirt and cool sunshade coming up the street.