would meet him. But with the passage of the storm his nerves had
recovered their normal tone, and with the brilliance and freshness of
the morning much of his optimism had returned.

He reached the approach to the foothills where the palms lifted their
stately and magnificent height, long before Pearl, and there, walking
restlessly back and forth, he watched the road with straining eyes. And
then he saw her, at first a mere speck in the distance; then she became
more and more distinct, for she rode fast. She waved her hand to him as
she came nearer and his heart rose in a great bound. Slackening the
speed of her horse, she leaped from the saddle while it was still going,
ran by its side, throwing the bridle over her arm, stopped, laughing
and breathless, and cast herself into Hanson's waiting arms.

"Pearl, Pearl," he cried, in a low voice, holding her close against him
and kissing her upturned face again and again. "Oh, Pearl, it's been a
thousand years in hell since I saw you last."

She laughed and, gazing eagerly into her care-free eyes and
unreproachful face, his heart rose again in a great sigh of relief.
"That's the way a tenderfoot always feels about a sand-storm," she said.
"Well, we sure gave you some nice theatrical effects, didn't we? It's
the biggest I've seen for many a long day. But you were bound to see
something like that before you went away." She spoke with a fatalism
approaching Bob Flick's. "The desert never lets you go and forget her."
Her eyes dreamed a moment.

"She's like you in that, Pearl. My heavens! I wish you could see
yourself this morning. Beautiful ain't the word."