Part 34 (1/2)

Alone on a wide, wide sea!

So lonely 'twas that G.o.d himself, Scarce seemed there to be!”

”Hush, John! Hus.h.!.+” pleaded Rhoda.

”Alone! Alone! All, all alone!”

repeated the croaking voice.

”But I'm with you, John!” Rhoda pleaded, but DeWitt rambled on unheeding.

The way grew indescribably rough. The desert floor became a series of sand dunes, a rise and fall of sea-like billows over which they climbed like ants over a new-plowed field. In the hollow of each wave they rested, sinking in the sand, where, breathless and scorching, the air scintillated above their motionless forms. At the crest of each they rested again, the desert wind hurtling the hot sand against their parched skins. Frequently John refused to rise and Rhoda in her half delirium would sink beside him until the mist lifted from her brain and once more the distant mesa forced itself upon her vision.

”Come, John, we will soon be there. We can't keep on this way forever and not reach some place. Please come, dear!”

”'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul--'”

”Perhaps there will be water there! O John, dear John, if you love me, come!”

”I don't love you, little boy! I love Rhoda Tuttle.

”O for a draught of vintage that hath been Cooled a long age in deep delved earth!”

”Please, John! I'm so sick!”

The man, after two or three attempts, staggered to his feet and stood swaying.

”G.o.d help me!” he said. ”I can do no more!”

”Yes, you can, John! Yes, you can! Perhaps there is a whole fountain of water there on the mesa!”

The glazed look returned to DeWitt's eyes.

”'Or the pitcher be broken at the fountain,'” he muttered, ”'or the wheel broken at the cistern--or the pitcher broken at the fountain, or the wheel--'”

Rhoda threw her arm across her eyes.

”Oh, not that, John! I can't bear that one!”

Again, she stood upon the roof at Chira, looking up into Kut-le's face.

Again the low wailing of the Indian women and the indescribable depth and hunger of those dear black eyes. Again the sense of protection and content in his nearness.

”O Kut-le! Kut-le!” she moaned.

Instantly sanity returned to John's eyes.

”Why did you say Kut-le?” he demanded thickly.

”Were you thinking of him?”