THE MAN IN SADDLE
of life, now trailed. Her face was a ghost's, her eyes dull gray as the sky, and whenever he looked at her they were fixed upon him, expectant, waiting a word. He held her, led her, but his desires were not toward her. They rushed forward like fire. Visions of beauty swept through his mind, but it was not her beauty. There was no room there for anything but one thought. No room for wonder at the curious path he had followed, nor at the thought of a man and a woman abroad at such an hour; no fear lest the clearing before the house, or the house itself that received them, should be aware of their coming. They went in by the outside stair. In his room objects were beginning to show themselves, the bed broad and pale, the walls gray. Last night. they had worn brocade of white and black. Looking at them he had thought of Blanche. Now he looked at her, and thought of something else. He took her wrists and laid her hands against his shoulders. She leaned upon him exhausted, looking up with confident eyes.
"How did you find it?" he said.
"I didn't. It was a chance. I know the place. I've always known it. We camped there one summer when I was a child, and then I found the cave and always wanted to go back to it. It was too far and too hard to get there from here. Up the cañon
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