bathe her hands and face and set herself in order. Her flying fingers
found her little mirror; there wasn't any smudge on her face, after
all, and her hair wasn't so terribly unbecoming that way; tousled, to
be sure, but then, nice, curly hair can be tousled and still not make
one a perfect hag. It _was_ odd about his mare being named Helen. He
must have thought the name pretty, for obviously he and his horse were
both intimate and affectionate. 'Alan Howard.' Here, too, was rather
a nice name for a man met by chance out in the desert. She paused in
the act of brushing her hair. Was she to get an explanation of last
night's puzzle? Was Mr. Howard the man who had lighted the other fire?

The professor's taciturnity was of a pronounced order this morning.
Now and then as he made his own brief and customarily untidy toilet, he
turned a look of accusation upon the big Colt lying on his bed. Before
drawing on his boots he bestowed upon his toe a long glance of
affection; the bullet that had passed within a very few inches of this
adjunct of his anatomy had emphasized a toe's importance. He had never
realized how pleasant it was to have two big toes, all one's own and
unmarred. By the time the foot had been coaxed and jammed down into
his new boot the professor's good humour was on the way to being
restored; a man of one thought at the time, due to his long habit of
concentration, his emotion was now one of a subdued rejoicing. It
needed but the morning cup of coffee to set him beaming upon the world.

Alan Howard's sudden call: 'Can I come in now, folks?' from across a
brief space of sand and brush, found Professor Longstreet on his knees
feeding twigs to a tiny blaze, and hastened Helen through the final
touches of her dressing. Helen was humming softly to herself, her back
to him, her mind obviously concentrated upon the bread she was slicing,
when the stranger swung down from his saddle and came forward. He