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She did not hear him. Her ears were attuned to voices floating to

her across the desert. Of course she was beginning to wander in

her mind. She knew that. There could be no other human beings in

this sea of loneliness. They were alone; just they two, the

degenerate ruffian and his victim. Still, it was strange. She

certainly had imagined the murmur of people talking. It must be

the beginning of delirium.

"Do you hear me?" screamed Struve, striking her on the cheek with

his fist. "I'm your master and you're my squaw."

She did not cringe as he had expected, nor did she show fight.

Indeed the knowledge of the blow seemed scarcely to have

penetrated her mental penumbra. She still had that strange

waiting aspect, but her eyes were beginning to light with

new-born hope. Something in her manner shook the man's

confidence; a dawning fear swept away his bluster. He, too, was

now listening intently.