This settled all question of his going.

Even if he reached the train and returned with some one, how would he ever find her again in this desolate expanse?
He watched the train slowly pass--still mechanically, almost hopelessly, waving his hat as he ran up and down before the mesquite, as if he were waving a last farewell to his departing hope.

Suddenly it appeared to him that three of the outriders who were preceding the first wagon had changed their shape.

They were no longer sharp, oblong, black blocks against the horizon but had become at first blurred and indistinct, then taller and narrower, until at last they stood out like exclamation points against the sky.

He continued to wave his hat, they continued to grow taller and narrower.