“More or less,” said Hassayamp, and went his way.
Tompkins went in and dined heartily, now confident that even if Hassayamp and Sidewinder got together in conference during the evening, they would be unable to figure him out to any great extent.
When Miss Gilman appeared at her table, she gave Tompkins a smiling nod, and he perceived that her day on the burning sands had done its work well.
“Cold cream is recommended,” he exclaimed. “May I inquire whether you will view the beauties ol the sunset this evening in my company, madam?”
“I shall be charmed—Perfesser,” she responded, and Tompkins grinned.
There was no sunset to view that evening, however. When they met in front of the hotel, a keen wind was coming down off the Chuckwalla hills, and clouds had appeared like magic in the sky. They walked together in silence toward the deserted buildings of the old boom town, until Tompkins spoke.
“We’ll have snow upon the desert’s dusty face in the morning. Old Omar Khayyam sure had been there! I’ve seen an inch of snow on the Mohave at sunrise, and it’d be gone in an hour. This is probably the tail-ender of the season—rains are all over now. Well, how did you find everything up the cañon?”
“It was just as described in that deed,” she said soberly. “Oh, I’m sorry for the way I spoke the other night! I didn’t think it could be possible, Mr.—shall I call you Tompkins or Ramsay?”
“Neither one,” he responded with a whimsical smile. “Call me Pat.”
“No. I think you don’t need any encouragement to impertinence.” And she laughed. “But really—that cañon was a dream of beauty! There was water, running and in pools, and all sorts of lilies were there, and flowers—”