In five minutes he was snoring. I pried the mirror from his fingers and
propped it up against a rock, so that he could see her face when he
woke up.
Then I stretched myself out in the sand, kicked off my shoes and stared
up at the sky. The sun was just sinking to rest, and there was a thin
sprinkling of stars in the middle of the sky.
The stars seemed cold and immeasurably remote.
Would it work out?
Could it possibly work out? Was I sticking out my neck in a gamble
so big it was like attempting to pierce the sun, and hammer out a
new humanity on a great blazing anvil heated to millions of degrees
centigrade?
I laughed, alone with my thoughts. Nothing dared, nothing gained. What
does a man gain by striking bargains with the mouse in himself?
* * * * *
I awoke in the cool dawn. The morning mists had rolled back and the red
desert looked almost beautiful in the sun-glow.
Steve was sitting up, staring at the mirror. The light shifted
suddenly, and I could see the radiance which smouldered in the depths
of the glass.
I got up, walked to the wall and peered over Steve's shoulder. The girl
was looking at him, her face so beautiful it fairly took my breath
away. It was as though after a lifetime of wandering she'd found the
only man in the world for her.
Her face was bright with sympathy, with compassion for Steve. But
Steve sat slumped in utter dejection, his eyes burning holes in his
face. He didn't even look up when I spoke to him.
"She knows, Tom," he whispered, hoarsely. "She turned pale when that
bullet hit me. She was relieved when you dressed the wound. She's been
watching over me all night, like an angel of mercy."
"You'll need her more and more," I said. "You know what the end will
be, Steve. Complete hopelessness in an empty room."
He stood up, his face savage.
"I never asked your advice," he ground out. "I'm not asking it now."
"I've got to save you, Steve," I said.
"I love her, do you hear? I don't care what happens to me!"
I picked up the mirror before he could guess my purpose. I swung about
and I brought that rare and beautiful object down on the rock Steve had
been sitting on.
There was a splintering crash, a crackling burst of white flame.
[Illustration: There was a splintering crash, a crackling burst of
flame....]
Steve gave a great despairing cry. He stood for an instant staring down
at the shattered fragments of the mirror. Then he came at me like a
charging bull, his eyes bloodshot.