“What if we hadn’t?” she asked.
“Pretty lonesome for me down here in that event.” They turned about in silence. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Eden continued. “We’re bound to come to the end of things at the ranch presently. And I’ll have to go back—”
“Back to your freedom. That will be nice.”
“You bet it will. All the same, I don’t want you to forget me after I’ve gone. I want to go on being your—er—your friend. Or what have you?”
“Splendid. One always needs friends.”
“Write to me occasionally. I’ll want to know how Wilbur is. You never can tell—is he careful crossing the streets?”
“Wilbur will always be fine, I’m sure.” They stopped before the hotel. “Good night,” said the girl.
“Just a minute. If there hadn’t been a Wilbur—”
“But there was. Don’t commit yourself. I’m afraid it’s the moon, looking so much like a slice of melon—”
“It’s not the moon. It’s you.”
The proprietor of the Desert Edge came to the door. Dim lights burned in the interior of the hotel.
“Lord, Miss Wendell,” he said. “I nearly locked you out.”
“I’m coming,” returned the girl. “See you at the ranch tomorrow, Mr. Eden.”
“Fine,” answered Eden. He nodded to the landlord, and the front door of the hotel banged shut in his face.
As he drove out across the lonely desert, he began to wonder what he was going to say to the restless P.J. Madden when he reached the ranch. The millionaire would be home from Pasadena now; he had expected to meet
