the town transacted
during the burning hours when the moles of the night lay housed in
gloom, when Morgan walked from the baggage-room of the railroad depot.

Few who saw Morgan on the day of his arrival in Ascalon would have
recognized him now. He had been obliged to go to the bottom of his trunk
for the outfit that he treasured out of sentiment for the old days
rather than in any expectation of needing it again--the rig he had worn
into the college town, a matter of six hundred miles from his range, to
begin a new life. Now he had fallen from the eminence. He was going back
to the old.

The gray wool shirt was wrinkled and stained by weather and wear, the
roomy corduroy trousers were worn from saddle chafing, the big spurs
were rusted of rowel and shank. But the boots were new--he had bought
them before leaving the range, to wear in college, laying them aside
with regret when he found them not just the thing in vogue--and they
were still brave in glossy bronze of quilted tops, little marred by
that last long ride out of his far-away past. His cream-colored hat was
battered and old, for he had worn it five years in all weather, crushed
from the pressure of packing, but he pinched the tall crown to a point
as he used to wear it, and turned the broad brim back from his forehead
according to the habit of his former days.

This had been his gala costume in other times, kept in the bunkhouse at
the ranch for days of fiesta, nights of dancing, and wild dissipation
when he rode with his fellows to the three-days' distant town. His old
pistol was in his holster, and his empty cartridge belt about his
middle, the rifle, in saddle holster, that he used to carry for wolves
and rustlers, in his hand.

Morgan stood a moment, leaning the rifle against the depot end, to take
the bright silk handkerchief from about his neck, as if he considered it
as being too festive for the somber business before him. The station
agent stood at the corner of the building, watching him curiously.

The horse that Morgan had borrowed from Stilwell lifted its head with a
start as he approached where it stood at the side of the station
platform, as if it questioned him on the reason for this transformation
and the honesty of his purpose. Morgan did not mount the horse, although
he walked with difficulty in the tight boots which had lain like the
shed habits of his past so many years unstretched by a foot. He went
leading the horse, rein over his ar