They spent the evening smoking and talking. The Señora rolled cigarettes with the greatest deftness, and the smile with which she administered the final little pat did much to enhance the taste of the tobacco.
At ten o’clock the Señora rose, and after calling the servant to light the men to their rooms, bade them good night.
It had been agreed that Stephen should stand the first watch. He insisted that the Señor, tired as he was from two sleepless nights of worry, should not share his vigil.
Having exchanged his carbine for one of his host’s Winchesters, Loring mounted the ladder that ran from the hallway of the second story to the roof. It was a perfect night. The heavens were glittering with stars, and all was silent. Not a breath of air came from across the desert to cool the copings, which were still warm from the day’s heat.
Stephen leaned his rifle against the chimney, then felt in his pockets for a little sack of coarse “Ricorte” which some one in the town had given to him. He filled his pipe carefully, packing the tobacco down with his forefinger, till all was even; then striking a match, he held it far from him, until the blue flame of the sulphur burned to a clear yellow. He held the match to his pipe until the bowl glowed in an even circle of fire, and the smoke drew through the stem in rich, full clouds. Then, picking up his rifle again, he began a careful lookout over the plain towards the pass.
A fact which greatly facilitates the building of air castles, is that, unlike most buildings, they need no foundations. The castles which Stephen built that night, as he paced up and down the roof, biting hard on his pipe-stem, would have done credit to a very good school of architecture. The general design may be imagined from the fact that time and time again he drew from his pocket a little crumpled envelope, and holding it close to the glow of his pipe, read and reread it. Once he carried it to his lips, and with a feeling almost as of sacrilege, kissed it. Then he turned sharply, for on the roof behind him he heard light footsteps and the tinkle of a woman’s laughter.
“Oh, but Señor Loring is a faithful lover,” exclaimed Pepita, stepping toward him.
Even in the darkness, Stephen felt himself blushing up to his hair. He stammered, then laughed: “I plead guilty, but I am not generally like that.”
“It does no harm,” she murmured softly. “And the Señorita, does she also care so much?”
“Not in the least,” answered Stephen. “The Señorita does not even know that I care.”