The stars seemed cold and immeasurably remote.
Could it possibly work out? Was I sticking out my neck in a gamble so big it was like attempting to pierce the sun, and hammer out a new humanity on a great blazing anvil heated to millions of degrees centigrade?
I laughed, alone with my thoughts. Nothing dared, nothing gained. What does a man gain by striking bargains with the mouse in himself?
I awoke in the cool dawn. The morning mists had rolled back and the red desert looked almost beautiful in the sun-glow.
Steve was sitting up, staring at the mirror. The light shifted suddenly, and I could see the radiance which smouldered in the depths of the glass.
I got up, walked to the wall and peered over Steve's shoulder. The girl was looking at him, her face so beautiful it fairly took my breath away. It was as though after a lifetime of wandering she'd found the only man in the world for her.
Her face was bright with sympathy, with compassion for Steve. But Steve sat slumped in utter dejection, his eyes burning holes in his face. He didn't even look up when I spoke to him.
"She knows, Tom," he whispered, hoarsely. "She turned pale when that bullet hit me. She was relieved when you dressed the wound. She's been watching over me all night, like an angel of mercy."
"You'll need her more and more," I said. "You know what the end will be, Steve. Complete hopelessness in an empty room."
"I never asked your advice," he ground out. "I'm not asking it now."
"I love her, do you hear? I don't care what happens to me!"
I picked up the mirror before he could guess my purpose. I swung about and I brought that rare and beautiful object down on the rock Steve had been sitting on.
There was a splintering crash, a crackling burst of white flame.
[Illustration: There was a splintering crash, a crackling burst of flame....]
Steve gave a great despairing cry. He stood for an instant staring down at the shattered fragments of the mirror. Then he came at me like a charging bull, his eyes bloodshot.
"That's all I wanted to know, Steve," I said. "Thanks, pal."
I looked down at him, lying in a crumpled heap at my feet.
I was glad he hadn't fallen on his wounded side. He was plenty sturdy, and he came from a long-lived family, and I didn't think a little clip on the jaw could hurt him. I hoped he'd forgive me when he woke up. That was important, because I thought a lot of Steve.