ennis, ain't a sign that I don't feel bad. I
don't want the Boss to speak to me or I'll cry."

The day of the election was a long one for Jim. He packed his trunk and
his personal papers and Mrs. Flynn began to wrap the legs of the chairs
in newspapers. Her tears threatened to reduce each wrapping to pulp
before she completed it. In the afternoon, Jim started for a last tour
of the dam. He covered the work slowly, looking his last at the details
over which he had toiled and dreamed so long. He walked slowly up from
the lower town. The men who passed him glanced away as if they would not
intrude on his trouble.

The work on the dam was going forward as though life and death depended
on the amount accomplished by this particular shift. Jim was
inexpressibly touched by this display of the men's good will, but he
could think of no way to show his feeling.

Just at sunset he climbed the Elephant's back. But he was not to have
this last call alone. Old Suma-theek was sitting on the edge of the
crater, his fine face turned hawklike toward the distance. Jim nodded to
his friend, then sat down in his favorite spot where, far across the
canyon, he could see the flag, rippling before the office.

After a time, the old Indian came over to sit beside him. He followed
Jim's gaze and said softly:

"That flag it heap pretty but wherever Injun see it he see sorrow and
death for Injun."

Jim answered slowly: "Perhaps we're being paid for what we've done to
you, Suma-theek. The white tribe that made the flag is going, just as we
have made you go. The flag will always look the same, but the dream it
was made to tell will go."

"Who sabez the way of the Great Spirit? He make you go. He make Injun
go. He make nigger and Chinamans stay. Perhaps they right, you and Injun
wrong. Who sabez?"

"I'd like to have finished my dam," Jim muttered. "Somehow we are
inadequate. I woke up too late." And suddenly a deeper significance came
to him of Pen's verse--

"Too late for love, too late for joy;
Too late! Too late!
You loitered on the road too long,
You trifled at the gate----"

"When you old like Suma-theek," said the Indian, "you sabez then nothing
matter except man make his tribe live. Have children or die! That the
Great Spirit's law for tribes."

Jim said no more. The daily miracle of the sunset was taking place. An
early snow had capped the far mountain peaks and these now flashed an
unearthly silver radi