ith their fragrance, and she, with the white moonlight in her face and
the pink rose in the golden wreath of her hair, fair as the woman of
Eden.

The vision passed before him in kaleidoscopic review, warm and living
and tempting and haunting, and then faded from his sight.

The shadows of evening began to lengthen. Close at hand a lizard that
had been sunning itself all day against the cliff raised its head for an
instant, then slipped noiselessly away with the shadows into a crevice
in the rock. The Indian camp-fires flickered in the valley below, their
slender, ghostlike columns of smoke, rising heavenward straight as the
flight of a flock of cranes, floated away in a pale, blue white cloud on
the evening. The soft, plaintive notes of the night-hawk and prairie-owl
mingled with the prolonged cry of the wolf in the distant foothills. The
night breeze sprang up, fanning the parched desert with its cool breath.
The stars came forth and the silver rim of the moon emerged above the
dark towering mass of the Sierra Madres, outlining their crests in
broken silvery lines as its full white disk swept into view; flooding
the valley and plains with strange ethereal light.

Jose's sleep seemed troubled. He moved uneasily and muttered
incoherently.

Where was she now--what was she doing? The woman he still loved in spite
of himself? And whither was he drifting--what was the real end in view?
What subtle, irresistible influence was it that impelled him to take the
step, sacrifice all that men prize and hold dear? During such moments
he questioned the seemingly blind destiny by which he felt himself
impelled. A thousand miles he had ridden in search of the realization of
his dreams, but had not found it. That which at first had lured him on,
now seemed to mock him. The vision that beckoned to him still maintained
a sphinx-like attitude toward his questioning.

Where was the new life he had promised himself? Was it only a vision he
had conjured up in his mind? Either he had overlooked something in his
calculations, or his logic was at fault.

Was this all? Had the human race attained its zenith--was there nothing
beyond, nothing to look forward to, and he merely the latest dreamer and
enthusiast who was pursuing the same will-o'-the-wisp that others had
sought through the ages? If so, then what fatality was it that
encompassed him and continually urged him on? Doubt counseled him to
return, but pride and confidence in self sti