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The rider's smile was sad, but it was conclusive.
"Then you'd better stay away from Bostil," returned Lucy, shortly.
He remained silent, and Lucy, busy about the campfire, did not speak again
till the simple fare was ready. Then she spread a tarpaulin in the shade.
"I'm pretty hungry myself," she said. "But I don't suppose I know what hunger
is."
"After a while a fellow loses the feelin' of hunger," he replied. "I reckon
it'll come back quick. . . . This all looks good."
So they began to eat. Lucy's excitement, her sense of the unreality of this
adventure, in no wise impaired her appetite. She seemed acutely sensitive to
the perceptions of the moment. The shade of the cedars was cool. And out on
the desert she could see the dark smoky veils of heat lifting. The breeze
carried a dry odor of sand and grass. She heard bees humming by. And all
around the great isolated monuments stood up, red tops against the blue sky.
It was a silent, dreaming, impressive place, where she felt unlike herself.
"I mustn't stay long," she said, suddenly remembering.


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