Charley

Another hour slipped by. Cramped and cold, Roger tossed an occasional branch in the fire with his free hand and speculated with uneasiness for Ernest, as to the nature of the faint sounds that came from the eastward. He decided that coyotes must be in the vicinity and he drew the blanket close over Felicia's shoulders. He was strangely unlonely. The desert silence and space about him, the low-lying stars, the faint cloud of mountain range were not alien to him. They all were the setting for the work toward which his whole life had moved. He knew too little of the desert really to be fearful for Ernest, whose return he expected any moment.

He dozed a little. A sudden sound of hoof-beats roused him. A man jumped from his horse on the opposite side of the fire. He was a stocky fellow, wearing blue overalls and a red sweater. Before he had given Roger more than a quick "Hello!" another horse came up and a woman alighted. Roger laid Felicia's head on the blanket and clambered stiffly to his feet. The young woman gave Roger a quick glance, then ran toward the sleeping child.

"Felicia! Baby Felicia!" she cried. "Did you think Charley had deserted you?"

Felicia sat up with a jerk. "Charley!" she screamed. "Charley! I knew you'd come!"

"Hello, Roger Moore!" exclaimed the stocky young man. "Are you the same young plutocrat who used to own a swimming pool?"