Hanson had stood the storm badly; inactivity was always a hardship to
him, also he was unused to such discomfort as he had to endure; and his
depression and unrest induced by the suspense he suffered in
continually wondering how Pearl would take Bob Flick's news were
greatly increased by the fact that he could get no word to her, nor
receive any from her.
But on the third night the storm stilled and in the morning the desert
showed herself sparkling like an enchantress, exhibiting all of her
marvelous illusions of color and wrapped in a golden garment of
sunshine. She smiled with all the allurement of a radiant and beautiful
woman.
Early in the morning, just as Hanson was preparing to send a note to
Pearl, he received one from her, asking him to meet her again within an
hour or two, amid the palms. She did not suggest his riding thither with
her. The note was brief, a mere line, and, study it as he would, he
found nothing in it to indicate what her attitude was toward him,
therefore it did not allay his nervousness in the least as to how she
would meet him. But with the passage of the storm his nerves had
recovered their normal tone, and with the brilliance and freshness of
the morning much of his optimism had returned.
He reached the approach to the foothills where the palms lifted their
stately and magnificent height, long before Pearl, and there, walking
restlessly back and forth, he watched the road with straining eyes. And
then he saw her, at first a mere speck in the distance; then she became
more and more distinct, for she rode fast.
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