The doors were empty and forlorn. The terraced walls, built with the patient labor of the long ago, were sagged and decayed. Riot of greasewood crowned great heaps of débris. A loneliness as of the end of the world came upon the two wanderers. Sick and dismayed, they stood in awe before this relic of the past.
"Whoo! Whoo!" an owl's cry sounded from the black window openings.
DeWitt spoke softly.
"Rhoda, it's one of the forgotten cities!"
"Let's go back! Let's go back to the spring!" pleaded Rhoda. "It is so uncanny in the dark!"
"No!" DeWitt rubbed his aching head wearily. "I must contrive some sort of shelter for you. Almost anything is better than another night in the open desert. Come on! We will explore a little."
"Let's wait till morning," begged Rhoda. "I'm so cold and shivery."
"Dear sweetheart, that's just the point. You will be sick if you don't have some sort of shelter. You have suffered enough. Will you sit here and let me look about?"
"No! No! I don't want to be left alone."
Rhoda followed John closely up into the mass of fallen rock.