I seemed to have a vague but clinging hope that, after the trouble was over, there might be--there _must_ be--something more between us.
Steele was not at our rendezvous among the rocks.

The hour was too late.
Among the few dim lights flickering on the outskirts of town I picked out the one of his little adobe house but I knew almost to a certainty that he was not there.

So I turned my way into the darkness, not with any great hope of finding Steele out there, but with the intention of seeking a covert for myself until morning.
There was no trail and the night was so black that I could see only the lighter sandy patches of ground.

I stumbled over the little clumps of brush, fell into washes, and pricked myself on cactus.

By and by mesquites and rocks began to make progress still harder for me.