b," replied Neale, bitterly.

"You're showin' a yellow streak? You're done, as you told Slingerland?
Nothin' ain't no good?... Life's over, fer all thet's sweet an' right?
Is thet your stand?"

"Yes, it must be, Reddy," said Neale, with scorn of himself. "But
you--it needn't apply to you."

"I reckon I'm sorry," rejoined Larry, ignoring Neale's last words. "I
always hoped you'd get over Allie's loss.... You had so much to live
fer."

"Reddy, I wish the bullet that hit Shane to-day had hit me instead....
You needn't look like that. I mean it. To-day when the Sioux chased us
my hair went stiff and my heart was in my mouth. I ran for my life as
if I loved it. But that was my miserable cowardice.... I'm sick of the
game."

"Are you in daid earnest?" asked Larry, huskily.

Neale nodded gloomily. He did not even regret the effect of his speech
upon the cowboy. He divined that somehow the moment was as critical and
fateful for Larry, but he did not care. The black spell was enfolding
him. All seemed hard, cold, monstrous within his breast. He could not
love anything. He was lost. He realized the magnificent loyalty of this
simple Texan, who was his true friend.

"Reddy, for God's sake don't make me ashamed to look you in the eyes,"
appealed Neale. "I want to go on. You know!"

"Wal, I reckon there ain't anythin' to hold me now," drawled Larry. He
had changed as he spoke. He had aged. The dry humor of the cowboy, the
amiable ease, were wanting.

"Oh, forgive my utter selfishness!" burst out Neale. "I'm not the man I
was. But don't think I don't love you."

They went out together, and the hum of riotous Benton called them; the
lights beckoned and the melancholy night engulfed them.

Next morning late, on the way to breakfast, Neale encountered a young
man whose rough, bronzed face somehow seemed familiar.

At sight of Neale this young fellow brightened and he lunged forward.

"Neale! Lookin' for you was like huntin' for a needle in a haystack."

Neale could not place him, and he did not try hard for recognition, for
that surely would recall his former relations to the railroad.

"I don't remember you," replied Neale.

"I'll bet Larry does," said the stranger, with a grin at the cowboy.

"Shore. Your name's Campbell an' you was a lineman for Baxter," returned
Larry.

"Right you are," said Campbell, offering his hand to Neale, and then to
Larry. He appeared both glad and excited.

"I guess I recall you now,