“No. I’ll remain, my son.”
That was conclusive. It was the answer of not only thirty years of living at the spot, but of his secret dread. Steele saw once more the stark fear in his eyes, the fear of contact with men, of venturing out into the world, of precipitating fate.
For a time his father plucked his white unkempt beard with unsteady hand.
“Where’s the place you’re going this time?” he presently inquired, without real interest.
“New Mexico.”
On the elder’s face appeared suddenly a gray shadow as if the blood were ebbing from his heart.
“Where in New Mexico?” he whispered.
“The town of San Mateo.”
His father struggled to his feet. With one hand he clutched the doorframe for support. The skin of his cheeks had gone a sickly white.
“San Mateo––San Mateo!” he gasped. “Not there, not there, Steele! Keep away, keep away, keep away! My God, not San Mateo––you!”