XII. The Trolley On The Desert
A new day dawned, and over the stunted, bizarre shapes of that land of drought the sun resumed its merciless vigil. Bob Eden was early abroad; it was getting to be a habit with him. Before breakfast was served he had a full hour for reflection, and it could not be denied that he had much upon which to reflect. One by one he recalled the queer things that had happened since he came to the ranch. Foremost in his thoughts was the problem of Evelyn Madden. Where was that haughty lady now? No morning mists on the landscape here, but in his mind a constantly increasing fog. If only something definite would occur, something they could understand.
After breakfast he rose from the table and lighted a cigarette. He knew that Madden was eagerly waiting for him to speak.
“Mr. Madden,” he said, “I find that I must go to Barstow this morning on rather important business. It’s an imposition, I know. But if Ah Kim could drive me to town in time for the ten-fifteen train—”
Thorn’s green eyes popped with sudden interest. Madden looked at the boy with ill-concealed approval.
“Why, that’s all right,” he replied. “I’ll be glad to arrange
