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rigid form of the woman and the position of the arms and hands without
perceiving that she was dead。
The man recognized this truth but it made only a dim impression； that
keg of water meant lifeand life was a thousandfold more to him than
death。 He drew himself upon the seat； snatched at the tin cup beside the
keg； and drew out the cloth…covered corn…cob that stopped the flow。
Having slaked his thirst； there was mingled with his sense of ineffable
content； an overwhelming desire for sleep。 He dropped on the second
mattress； on which bedclothes were carelessly strewn； his head found the
empty pillow that lay indented as it had been left by some vanished
sleeper。 As his eyelids closed； he fell sound asleep。 But for the rising and
falling of his powerful breast； he was as motionless as the body of the
woman。
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Without； the afternoon sun slowly sank behind the mountains casting
long shadows over the plains； the wind swirled the sand in tireless eddies；
sometimes lifting it high in great sheets； forming sudden dunes； coyotes
prowled among the foot…hills and out on the open levels； squatting with
eyes fixed on the wagon； uttering sharp quick barks of interrogation。 A
herd of deer lifted their horns against the horizon； then suddenly bounded
away； racing like shadows toward the lowlands of Red River。 On the
domelike summit of Mount Welsh； a mile away； a mountain…lion showed
his sinuous form against the sky seven hundred feet in air。 And from the
mountainside near at hand stared from among the thick greenery of a cedar；
the face of an Indian whose black hair was adorned by a single red feather。
Within the wagon； unconscious of all； in strange fellowship； lay the
living and the dead。
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CHAPTER IV
AN UNWONTED PRAYER
When Willock started up from the mattress in the covered wagon； the
sun had set。 Every object； however； was clearly defined in the first glow of
the long August twilight； and it needed but a glance to recall the events
that had brought him to seek shelter and slumber beside the dead woman。
He sat up suddenly； staring from under his long black hair as it fell about
his eyes。 Accustomed as he was to deeds of violence； even to the sight of
men weltering in their life's blood； he was strangely moved by that rigid
form with the thin arms folded over the breast； by that white cloth
concealing face and hair。 A long keen examination of the prairie assured
him that no human being was between him and the horizon。 He turned
again toward the woman。 He felt an overpowering desire to look on her
face。
For years there had been no women in his world but the abandoned
creatures who sought shelter in the resorts of Beer City in No…Man's Land…
…these； and the squaws of the reservations； and occasionally a white
terrified face among the wagon…trains。 As a boy； before running away from
home in the Middle West； he had known a different order of beings； and
some instinct told him that this woman belonged to the class of his
childhood's association。 There was imperative need of his hurrying to the
mountain； lest； at any moment； a roving band of Indians discover the
abandoned wagon； besides this； he was very hungry since his rest； and the
wagon was stocked with provisions； nevertheless； to look on the face of
the dead was his absorbing desire。
But it was not easy for him to yield to his curiosity； despite his life of
crime。 Something about the majestic repose of that form seemed to add
awe to the mystery of sex； and he crouched staring at the cloth which no
breath stirred save the breath of evening。
He believed； now； the story that Henry Gledware had reiterated in
accents of abject terror。 Surely this was the 〃last wagon〃 in that train
which Red Kimball had attacked the morning before。 Impossible as it had
seemed to the highwaymen； Gledware must have been warned of the
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attack in time to turn about and lash his horses out of danger of discovery。
At this spot； Gledware had cut loose the horses； mounted one with his
stepdaughter； leaving the other to go at will。 This； then； was the mother of
that child whose arm had lain in warm confidence about his neck。 On
hands and knees； Willock crept to the other mattress and lifted the margin
of the large white cloth。
His hand moved stealthily； slowly。 Catching sight of something that
faintly gleamed at the collar of the dress； he hesitated； his determination to
examine the countenance was as firm as ever； but his impulse to put it off
as long as possible was even stronger。 He bent down to look closer at the
ornament； it was a round breastpin of onyx and pearl set in a heavy rim of
gold。 The warm wind； tempered by approaching night to a grateful
balminess； stirred the cloth between his fingers。 He stared as if lost in
profound meditation。 That pin resembled one his mother used to wear； and；
somehow； the soothing touch of the wind reminded him of her hand on his
forehead。 He might have gone back home； if she had not died long ago。
Now； in spite of the many years that had passed over her grave； the
memory of her came as strong； as sweet； as instinct with the fullness of
life； as； if he were suddenly wafted back into boyhood。
He did not lift the cloth； after all； but having replaced it gently； he
searched the wagon for a spade。 It was found in the box fastened to the
end of the wagon； and with the spade； in the gathering darkness； he dug a
grave near the mountainside。 Between the strokes of the blade he sent
searching glances over the prairie and along the sloping ridges of the
overlooking range； but there were no witnesses of his work save the
coyotes that prowled like gray shadows across the sands。 When the grave
was ready he carried thither in his giant's arms the body of the woman on
the