anxiously.

"Of course, being Nitschkan." Gallito's tone was quite composed and
equable. "Well, she's safe, and she'll keep him in order if anybody
can." Again that grimly humorous smile played about his mouth. "Why did
she bring Mrs. Thomas?"

Flick laughed. "To keep her in order, too. Mrs. Thomas is big and
pretty, with no mind of her own, and she got tangled up in some fool
love affair that her friends didn't approve of, so when Nitschkan
started off on this last gipsy expedition of hers they sent Mrs. Thomas
with her."

Gallito was about to answer and then, suddenly, he seemed to stiffen,
his hand, which was conveying a match to his cigarette, remained
motionless, the flame of the match flared up and then went out in a gust
of wind. "Look, Bob, look," he said, in a low voice. "What do you see
out there?"

Flick's eyes, keener even than his, swept the desert. "By George!" he
whispered huskily; "it's her, her alone, and coming like the wind."

"I hope," cried Gallito and gnawed his lip, "that she has done nothing
that will get us into trouble."

"I hope to God she has," said Flick. "The desert'll take care that she
gets into no trouble. It'll be as silent as the grave. Just another case
of a reckless tenderfoot getting lost out there in the sand, that's
all."