"I know how you feel, old man. And don't you know that
another man might be fool enough to--to love her as much as you do?"
"Tommy!"
"Yes," with a hard little smile. "Why not? I'm only half a man, old
fellow, but the head and the heart of me are left. And I've got to sit
here and wait. And," his tone suddenly stern, "that's what you've got
to do! You can't help by going--and you are the only man who has got
to keep his head clear, who has got to stay here and direct the new
forces which our good fortune has given to us."
For a moment Conniston stood staring incredulously. Then he turned,
and his frowning eyes ran out toward the north, across the
far-stretching solitudes of the desert. Somewhere out there, a mile
away, ten miles away, twenty miles away, alone, perhaps tortured with
thirst, perhaps famishing, perhaps--He shuddered and groaned aloud as
he tried in vain to shut out the pictures which his leaping
imagination drew for him. And here Garton's quiet voice was telling
him that he had responsibilities, that he had work to do, that he, to
whom she meant more than success or failure, life or death, must hold
back from going to her.
"I won't--I can't!" he cried, wildly. "She is out there, Tommy, alone.
She needs me--and I am going to her! What do I care about your cursed
work!"
"There's a horse and saddle in the shed by the lunch-stand.
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