perhaps he and this man, alone on the desert, driven there by life's
mysterious and remorseless motive, were to see each other through
God's eyes.

His companion was one who thought of himself last. It humiliated
Cameron that in spite of growing keenness he could not hinder him
from doing more than an equal share of the day's work. The man
was mild, gentle, quiet, mostly silent, yet under all his softness
he seemed to be made of the fiber of steel. Cameron could not
thwart him. Moreover, he appeared to want to find gold for Cameron,
not for himself. Cameron's hands always trembled at the turning
of rock that promised gold; he had enough of the prospector's
passion for fortune to thrill at the chance of a strike. But the
other never showed the least trace of excitement.

One night they were encamped at the head of a canyon. The day had
been exceedingly hot, and long after sundown the radiation of heat
from the rocks persisted. A desert bird whistled a wild, melancholy
note from a dark cliff, and a distant coyote wailed mournfully.
The stars shone white until the huge moon rose to burn out all their
whiteness. And on this night Cameron watched his comrade, and
yielded to interest he had not heretofore voiced.

"Pardner, what drives you into the desert?"

"Do I seem to be a driven man?"

"No. But I feel it. Do you come to forget?"

"Yes."