n long years, and often in months only of
association with the derelicts and "hard cases" of the world. Rarely
enough, when Fortune's pendulum swings toward one more favored
individual, a flickering desire to return to gentler paths will
momentarily stir amidst the mire, but it seldom amounts to more than
something in the nature of a drunkard's dream in moments of sobriety,
and passes just as swiftly. The lustful animal appetite is too
powerful; it demands the sordid pleasures which the possession of gold
makes possible. Nor will it be satisfied with anything else. A tramp
gold-seeker is irreclaimable. His joy lies in his quest and the dreams
of fortune which are all too rarely fulfilled Every nerve centre is
drugged with his lust, and, like all decadents, he must fulfil the
destiny which his own original weakness has marked out for him.

Buck understood something of all this without reasoning it out in
his simple mind. He understood with a heart as reckless as their own,
but with a brain that had long since gathered strength from the
gentle wisdom of the man who was a sort of foster-father to him. He
did not pity. He felt he had no right to pity, but he had a deep
sympathy and love for the strongly human motives which stirred these
people. Success or failure, he saw them as men and women whose many
contradictory qualities made them intensely lovable and sometimes even
objects for respect, if for nothing else, at least for their very
hardihood and courage.

He rode up to the largest hut, which stood beyond the shadow of a
group of pine-trees, and dropped out of the saddle. With careful
forethought he loosened the cinchas of Caesar's saddle and removed the
bit from his mouth. Then, with one last look at the purpling heavens,
he pushed aside the tattered blanket which hung across the doorway and
strode into the dimly-lit apartment.

It was a silent greeting that welcomed him. His own "Howdy" met with
no verbal response. But every eye of the men lying about on blankets
outspread upon the dusty floor was turned in his direction.

The scene was strange enough, but for Buck it had nothing new. The
gaunt faces and tattered clothing had long since ceased to drive him
to despairing protest. He knew, in their own phraseology, they were
"up against it"--the "it" in this case meaning the hideous spectre of
starvation. He glanced over the faces and counted seven of them. He
knew them all. But, drawing forward an upturned soap-bo