She was thinking of all this as she waited for him in the deserted
house. The late afternoon was sultry, and she had tossed aside her hat
and stretched herself at full length on the Mexican blanket because it
was cooler indoors than under the trees. She lay with her arms folded
beneath her head, gazing out at the shaggy shoulder of the Mountain. The
sky behind it was full of the splintered glories of the descending sun,
and before long she expected to hear Harney's bicycle-bell in the lane.
He had bicycled to Hamblin, instead of driving there with his cousin
and her friends, so that he might be able to make his escape earlier
and stop on the way back at the deserted house, which was on the road
to Hamblin. They had smiled together at the joke of hearing the crowded
buck-boards roll by on the return, while they lay close in their
hiding above the road. Such childish triumphs still gave her a sense of
reckless security.
Nevertheless she had not wholly forgotten the vision of fear that had
opened before her in the Town Hall.
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