The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1934-06-01
CHAPTER III
A Man Leaves and Another Speaks.

a Man Leaves ana announcer speaks.
The little town, close on the border
of the Reservation, was typical of all
desert towns, lonely and bleak and
washed continually with wind and
sand. 1t held store or two, black
smith shop, a tiny station on the rail-
road line, and the customary tanks
of water. Sonya parked the car in
front of the general store, and taking
her handbag from the seat beside her,
climbed out and entered. The store
This owner was a bland fat man by
the name of Parks, man whom Sonya
disliked instinctively, but who never
allowed anyone except himself to wait
on her. He came forward now, the
creases of his heavy face set deep
with smiles.
"Why, Miss Savarin" he said unctu-
ously, what can we do for you? Like
some nice fresh fruit? Got in some
right good oranges an grapefruit this
week"
Sonya spent some time in the store,
buying fair supply of the oranges,
thinking of Little Moon, and of more
staple things for Lila.
AS she walked briskly about, select
ing this and that, there was the stir
of arrival at the high board porch out
side. Three men were coming in, and
Sonya looked up from her task casually,
as one does in such circumstances.
Instantly she felt the annoying prickle
of her skin, the odd anger that had
scared her before, for one of the new
Corners was the tall bronze man of
Lone Mesa. The two with him were
dark and rough, men of secret eyes
and narrow lips, in appearance the
worst Of the Border types which Sonya
knew, and she prided herself she had
seen them all in this mans country.
Bad hombres, she told herself, after
that first swift glance, fit companions
to that drunken libertine who had
dragged her from her horse on the top
of Lone Mesa.
At that memory her face burned
with hot anger and she set her lovely
full-lipped mouth into a stern line,
shook her shoulders exactly as If she
flung off some actual repellent touch.
She strobe forward, head up, eyes
straight, and had to pass within five
feet of the three men who had entered.
As she did so she was conscious of the
eyes, under the tilted hat-brim, on her
face. 1t was as If strong magnetic
current pulled at her in passing, as If
some inarticulate power focused all
its strength upon her that she might
look aside. So strong and compelling
was this that to save her life she could
not help the flicker of her eyelids, the
almost unbearable desire to turn and
look. But she did not turn. Angry
to her boot heels, both with her out
ragged memory and with herself, she
walked to the door and out. So stirred
was she within herself that she sat
in her sweater pockets, and did not
turn even when she heard Parks, or
who she thought was Parks, come out
across the porch with her box Of sup
plies.
'Put them in back" she said, nod
ding over her shoulder, "and thanks"
AS she reached for the gearshift
she stopped in the act, arrested by a
voice that was not Parks.
Miss Savarin," it said, "can speak
to you a minute?"
Sonya Strengthened up and looked
at the owner Of the voice. Straight in
the eyes she looked him, her mouth
shut hard again.
And at that straight look she saw
again the wild blue eyes under the
level bronze brows that had stared
down in her face as she hung to the
dead root of the pinon stump on the
windswept face of Lone Mesa.
But they were vastly changed. The
black pupils that had spread so wildly
over the blue of the iris that day were
normal now, the expression anxious.
''Well?" she said thinly. "Why
should you talk to me?"
"Why-why. just because 1t seems
/ must. / want toto tell you-to
ask you if Can you believe me when
/ tell you that I've never had min
utes peace since that day on the
Mesa2 I've never forgotten your face
--or your hands-or the wind blowing