There was a knock and Bobby came in. It was known that his door was never locked, and this was one of his disciplines. There were enough people he had to be afraid of, things he had done one way or another, and he was full of fear. Many nights he lay awake listening to the desert sounds, the rare animals, the wind, the noise of automobiles, his heart beating from anger at his fear. For punishment he never used the bolt. The thought that he must never lock his door had come on him one night in a sweat-soaked bed, and he revolted at the idea. “Oh, no,” he said aloud, “do I have to do that?” and in the act of pleading leniency for himself, had made it impossible to lock his door again.