He reached the fountain, and wetting his hands, passed them across his forehead and eyes.

Once more he stood listening.

The silence was profound.
Troubled, disturbed, Vanamee went away, passing out of the garden, descending the hill.

He forded Broderson Creek where it intersected the road to Guadalajara, and went on across Quien Sabe, walking slowly, his head bent down, his hands clasped behind his back, thoughtful, perplexed..