"I know," replied the girl. "I don't believe a person could be a real agnostic in the desert, do you?"
"No," said Roger, simply.
"You must go to bed," repeated Charley. "And you mustn't worry any more about me." She turned to run quickly up the trail to the adobe.
Roger started campward.
He was wakened later in the morning by the sound of conversation.
"I'm sorry, madam, but I'm no cook, and I dislike olive oil, anyhow. If you'll eat the pancakes as I fry 'em, in bacon fat, you're more than welcome to all you wish. But if you want olive oil used, you must fry them yourself."
"Where's the other young man?" asked Mrs. von Minden.
"Hey! Rog!" roared Ernest. "You're wanted."
Roger sat up on the edge of his cot with a yawn. As he did so, his eye fell on the unopened letters on the trunk.
Without waiting to dress he opened the one postmarked Washington. He read it through twice, then very deliberately rose and pulled on his clothing. His face was pale beneath the tan as he stepped out into the morning sun.