Once Howard, the lighter spirited of the two, sought to laugh the constraint away.

‘Something seems to have come over us, John,’ he said.  But as he spoke he knew that what he should have said was that something had come between them.  Further, he knew that Carr would have amended his words thus in his own mind and that that was why he did not reply.  He recalled vividly how they three had stood on the cliff, he on Helen’s left, John on her right.  He and John were friends; in the desert lands friendship is sacred.  Further, it is mighty, stalwart, godly, and all but indomitable.  They had shared together, fought together.  One friend would do to the uttermost for the other, would die for him.  He would rush into the other’s fight, asking no questions, and if he went down the chill of coming death would be warmed by the glow of conscious sacrifice.  The friendship of Howard and Carr had stood the many tests of time.  But only now had the supreme test come.  Until to-day, either of them in the generousness of his spirit would have stepped gladly aside for the other.  But now?  A girl is not a cup of water that one man, dying of thirst, may say of her to his friend:  ‘Take her.’  Their friendship was not changed; simply it was no longer the greatest thing in life.  The love of a man for a man, though it be strengthened by ten thousand ties, is less than the love of a man for his chosen mate, though to the other eyes and minds that love may be inexplicable.  Set any Damon and Pythias upon an isolated desert island, then into their lives bring the soft eyes of a girl, and inevitably the day will dawn when those eyes will look upon the death of a friendship.  This knowledge had at last become a part of the understandings of Alan Howard and John Carr.

‘You are going East, John?’ asked Howard when at length his spirit sought a second time to shake off the oppression of the hour.

Even these words came with something of an effort.  He tried to speak naturally.  But behind his words were troops of confused thoughts; Carr was going East, and had said nothing to him; if Carr left, what then of Helen?  Carr had tried to persuade the Longstreets to go with him.

And to Carr the query sounded more careless, more lightly casual than Howard had intended.  His own thoughts were quick to respond though his reply came after a noticeable hesitation.  Alan did not appear to care whether he went away or remained; he had not asked if this were to be a brief absence or an indefinite sojourn.

‘Yes,’ Carr’s answer at last was short and blunt; ’I have business there.’

Carr thought that if Alan were interested he would ask naturally, as one friend had always asked the other, to know more.  Howard thought that if Carr cared to speak of his own personal affairs he would do so.  Hence, while both waited, neither spoke.  Perhaps both were hurt.  Certainly the constraint between them thickened and deepened in step with the engulfing night; they could not see each other’s faces, they could not glimpse each other’s souls.  Both were baffled and into the temper of each came a growing irritation.  One thing alone they appeared to have in common—­the desire to come to the end of the ride.  Their spurs dipped and they raced along wordlessly.