emptied by now, and much shortened, rolled along the shores of Owen
Lake. At a place called Keeler it stopped definitely. It was the
terminus of the road.

The town of Keeler was a one-street town, not unlike Iowa Hill--the
post-office, the bar and hotel, the Odd Fellows' Hall, and the livery
stable being the principal buildings.

"Where to now?" muttered McTeague to himself as he sat on the edge of
the bed in his room in the hotel. He hung the canary in the window,
filled its little bathtub, and watched it take its bath with enormous
satisfaction. "Where to now?" he muttered again. "This is as far as the
railroad goes, an' it won' do for me to stay in a town yet a while; no,
it won' do. I got to clear out. Where to? That's the word, where to?
I'll go down to supper now"--He went on whispering his thoughts aloud,
so that they would take more concrete shape in his mind--"I'll go down
to supper now, an' then I'll hang aroun' the bar this evening till I get
the lay of this land. Maybe this is fruit country, though it looks more
like a cattle country. Maybe it's a mining country. If it's a mining
country," he continued, puckering his heavy eyebrows, "if it's a mining
country, an' the mines are far enough off the roads, maybe I'd better
get to the mines an' lay quiet for a month before I try to get any
farther south."

He washed the cinders and dust of a week's railroading from his face
and hair, put on a fresh pair of boots, and went down to supper. The
dining-room was of the invariable type of the smaller interior towns
of California. There was but one table, covered with oilcloth; rows of
benches answered for chairs; a railroad map, a chromo with a gilt
frame protected by mosquito netting, hung on the walls, together with a
yellowed photograph of the proprietor in Masonic regalia. Two waitresses
whom the guests--all men--called by their first names, came and went
with large trays.

Through the windows outside McTeague observed a great number of saddle
horses tied to trees and fences. Each one of these horses had a riata on
the pommel of the saddle. He sat down to the table, eating his thick hot
soup, watching his neighbors covertly, listening to everything that was
said. It did not take him long to gather that the country to the east
and south of Keeler was a cattle country.

Not far off, across a range of hills, was the Panamint Valley, where the
big cattle ranges were. Every now and then this name was tossed to
an