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〃A Death in the Desert〃









Everett Hilgarde was conscious that the man in the seat



across the aisle was looking at him intently。  He was a large;



florid man; wore a conspicuous diamond solitaire upon his third



finger; and Everett judged him to be a traveling salesman of some



sort。  He had the air of an adaptable fellow who had been about



the world and who could keep cool and clean under almost any



circumstances。







The 〃High Line Flyer;〃 as this train was derisively called



among railroad men; was jerking along through the hot afternoon



over the monotonous country between Holdridge and Cheyenne。 



Besides the blond man and himself the only occupants of the car



were two dusty; bedraggled…looking girls who had been to the



Exposition at Chicago; and who were earnestly discussing the cost



of their first trip out of Colorado。  The four uncomfortable



passengers were covered with a sediment of fine; yellow dust



which clung to their hair and eyebrows like gold powder。  It blew



up in clouds from the bleak; lifeless country through which they



passed; until they were one color with the sagebrush and



sandhills。  The gray…and…yellow desert was varied only by



occasional ruins of deserted towns; and the little red boxes of



station houses; where the spindling trees and sickly vines in the



bluegrass yards made little green reserves fenced off in that



confusing wilderness of sand。







As the slanting rays of the sun beat in stronger and



stronger through the car windows; the blond gentleman asked the



ladies' permission to remove his coat; and sat in his lavender



striped shirt sleeves; with a black silk handkerchief tucked



carefully about his collar。  He had seemed interested in Everett



since they had boarded the train at Holdridge; and kept



glancing at him curiously and then looking reflectively out of



the window; as though he were trying to recall something。  But



wherever Everett went someone was almost sure to look at him with



that curious interest; and it had ceased to embarrass or annoy him。



Presently the stranger; seeming satisfied with his observation;



leaned back in his seat; half…closed his eyes; and began softly



to whistle the 〃Spring Song〃 from Proserpine; the cantata



that a dozen years before had made its young composer famous in a



night。  Everett had heard that air on guitars in Old Mexico; on



mandolins at college glees; on cottage organs in New England



hamlets; and only two weeks ago he had heard it played on



sleighbells at a variety theater in Denver。  There was literally no



way of escaping his brother's precocity。  Adriance could live on



the other side of the Atlantic; where his youthful indiscretions



were forgotten in his mature achievements; but his brother had



never been able to outrun Proserpine; and here he found it



again in the Colorado sand hills。  Not that Everett was exactly



ashamed of Proserpine; only a man of genius could have



written it; but it was the sort of thing that a man of genius



outgrows as soon as he can。







Everett unbent a trifle and smiled at his neighbor across



the aisle。  Immediately the large man rose and; coming over;



dropped into the seat facing Hilgarde; extending his card。







〃Dusty ride; isn't it?  I don't mind it myself; I'm used to



it。  Born and bred in de briar patch; like Br'er Rabbit。  I've



been trying to place you for a long time; I think I must have met



you before。〃







〃Thank you;〃 said Everett; taking the card; 〃my name is



Hilgarde。  You've probably met my brother; Adriance; people often



mistake me for him。〃







The traveling man brought his hand down upon his knee with



such vehemence that the solitaire blazed。







〃So I was right after all; and if you're not Adriance



Hilgarde; you're his double。  I thought I couldn't be mistaken。 



Seen him?  Well; I guess!  I never missed one of his recitals at



the Auditorium; and he played the piano score of Proserpine



through to us once at the Chicago Press Club。  I used to be on



the Commercial there before I 146 began to travel



for the publishing department of the concern。  So you're Hilgarde's



brother; and here I've run into you at the jumping…off place。 



Sounds like a newspaper yarn; doesn't it?〃







The traveling man laughed and offered Everett a cigar; and



plied him with questions on the only subject that people ever



seemed to care to talk to Everett about。  At length the salesman



and the two girls alighted at a Colorado way station; and Everett



went on to Cheyenne alone。







The train pulled into Cheyenne at nine o'clock; late by a



matter of four hours or so; but no one seemed particularly



concerned at its tardiness except the station agent; who grumbled



at being kept in the office overtime on a summer night。  When



Everett alighted from the train he walked down the platform and



stopped at the track crossing; uncertain as to what direction he



should take to reach a hotel。  A phaeton stood near the crossing;



and a woman held the reins。  She was dressed in white; and her



figure was clearly silhouetted against the cushions; though it



was too dark to see her face。  Everett had scarcely noticed her;



when the switch engine came puffing up from the opposite



direction; and the headlight threw a strong glare of light on his



face。  Suddenly the woman in the phaeton uttered a low cry and



dropped the reins。  Everett started forward and caught the



horse's head; but the animal only lifted its ears and whisked its



tail in impatient surprise。  The woman sat perfectly still; her



head sunk between her shoulders and her handkerchief pressed to



her face。  Another woman came out of the depot and hurried toward



the phaeton; crying; 〃Katharine; dear; what is the matter?〃







Everett hesitated a moment in painful embarrassment; then



lifted his hat and passed on。  He was accustomed to sudden



recognitions in the most impossible places; especially by women;



but this cry out of the night had shaken him。







While Everett was breakfasting the next morning; the headwaiter



leaned over his chair to murmur that there was a gentleman waiting



to see him in the parlor。  Everett finished his coffee and went in



the direction indicated; where he found his visitor restlessly



pacing the floor。  His whole manner betrayed a high degree of



agitation; though his physique was not that of a man whose nerves



lie near the surface。  He was something below medium height;



square…shouldered and solidly built。  His thick; closely cut hair



was beginning to show gray about the ears; and his bronzed face was



heavily lined。  His square brown hands were locked behind him; and



he held his shoulders like a man conscious of responsibilities;



yet; as he turned to greet Everett; there was an incongruous



diffidence in his address。







〃Good morning; Mr。 Hilgarde;〃 he said; extending his hand;



〃I found your name on the hotel register。  My name is Gaylord。 



I'm afraid my sister startled you at the station last night; Mr。



Hilgarde; and I've come around to apologize。〃







〃Ah!  The young lady in the phaeton?  I'm sure I didn't know



whether I had anything to do with her alarm or not。  If I did; it



is I who owe the apology。〃







The man colored a little under the dark brown of his face。







〃Oh; it's nothing you could help; sir; I fully understand



that。  You see; my sister used to be a pupil of your brother's;



and it seems you favor him; and when the switch engine thre

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