staring ahead of her.

The nakedness of the stony arroyo, the gnarled and stunted
thickets, were softened by the magic of twilight; the air had
suddenly cooled; overhead the empty, flawless sky was deepening
swiftly from blue to purple; the chaparral had awakened and echoed
now to the sounds of life. Nestling in a shallow, flinty bowl was
a pool of water, and on its brink a little fire was burning.

It was a tiny fire, overhung with a blackened pot; the odor of
greasewood and mesquite smoke was sharp. A man, rising swiftly to
his feet at the first sound, was staring at the new-comer; he was
as alert as any wild thing. But the woman scarcely heeded him. She
staggered directly toward the pond, seeing nothing after the first
glance except the water. She would have flung herself full length
upon the edge, but the man stepped forward and stayed her, then
placed a tin cup in her hand. She mumbled something in answer to
his greeting and the hoarse, raven-like croak in her voice
startled her; then she drank, with trembling eagerness, drenching
the front of her dress. The water was warm, but it was clean and
delicious.

"Easy now. Take your time," said the man, as he refilled the cup.
"It won't give out."

She knelt and wet her face and neck; the sensation was so grateful
that she was tempted to fling herself bodily into the pool. The
man was still talking, but she took no heed of what he said. Then
at last she sank back, her feet curled under her, her body
sagging, her head drooping. She felt the stranger's hands beneath