"Yes. For a few days, at least. I want to get over the idea that I have
to take the next train West before I make any further plans."

The Senator accompanied Bartley to the drug-store. The Easterner bought
what he needed in the way of shaving-kit and brush and comb. The Senator
excused himself and crossed the street to talk to a friend. The
afternoon sun slanted across the hot roofs, painting black shadows on
the dusty street. Bartley found Wishful, the proprietor, and told him
that he would like to engage a room with a bath.

Wishful smiled never a smile as he escorted Bartley to a room.

"I'll fetch your bath up, right soon," he said solemnly.

Presently Wishful appeared with a galvanized iron washtub and a kettle
of boiling water. Bartley thanked him.

"You can leave 'em out in the hall when you're through," said Wishful.

Bartley enjoyed a refreshing bath and rub-down. Later he set the kettle
and tub out in the dim hallway. Then he sat down and wrote a letter to
his friend in California, explaining his change of plan. The afternoon
sunlight waned. Bartley gazed out across the vast mesas, lavender-hued
and wonderful, as they darkened to blue, then to purple that was shot
with strange half-lights from the descending sun.

Suddenly a giant hand seemed to drop a canopy over the vista, and it was
night. Bartley lighted the oil lamp and sat staring out into the
darkness. From below came the rattle of dishes. Presently Bartley heard
heavy, deliberate footsteps ascending the stairway. Then a clanging