It was a close squeeze. She blessed a sudden thundering on the slide trombone. All fat men have kind hearts, she decided.
“Yes, but only for a little while. Only for a few months. Then they brought me west.”
The last paragraph of a third instalment rose word by word before her eyes.
“They thought to bury me in the west! Even out here they guard me like a criminal! To-night I had to run away to be with you—you all. But they cannot bury me in this country. I look upon the stars at night and do not feel alone. The desert is my friend. I feel its mystery. And I feel the truth and strength of the men of the desert. Somewhere among them I shall find one friend!”
She bowed her head again.
“Some memory, Jac!” she was saying to herself.
The deep rumble of his voice, broken and passionate, broke in upon her.
“By God, you have found that friend. I’m him!”
“Mr. Gordon—Maurie!”
He could not speak!