. He left the window now with a curious sigh, and gave a last pull
on the strap of the largest bag with his big, muscular hands. Even now,
with the ramshackle stage-coach almost at the door, he could not bring
himself to believe that the old life was over and done with. What the
devil was he up to, anyway, hiking around in creased trousers and black
boots? Colorado Jim bound for Europe--London! It sounded impossibly
fantastic. But there it was, written on the labels of his bags--"James
Conlan, London, via New York." He tucked the rebellious collars of his
soft blue shirt into his waistcoat, and pulled out an enormous watch.

"Rob ain't on time," he muttered; then, "Emily!"

A voice that sounded like the action of a saw in contact with a nail came
from below.

"Yeah?"

"My bill--quick!"

"But you ain't had no breakfas' yet."

"Ain't takin' none. Come along right now and give a hand with these
grips."

The owner of the voice, a shriveled-up, extremely untidy girl of about
eighteen, with her hair in "crackers" and her eyes scarcely more than half
open, entered the room, and stood gaping at him. She had gaped at him
consistently for two whole days, and he didn't like it. He wasn't used to
women--didn't understand them and didn't want to. He didn't even
understand that the romantic Emily had fallen passionately in love with
him exactly forty seconds after her sleepy eyes had first beheld him.

"For God's sake don't stare at me! Take the grips, gal, take 'em. Not that
one, it would dislocate your internals."

She dropped the big one like a hot brick and grabbed the two smaller ones.
At the door she found opportunity to scan him once more, and to murmur
under her breath, "Lor', ain't he wonderful!" before her master came along
and ended her rapturous soliloquies. He entered the room and nodded to
Jim.

"So you're making out, Jim?"

"Looks like it."

"Wal, I'm sure sorry, and there ain't a guy in these parts who ain't sorry
too."

Jim shrugged his big shoulders and jerked out his chin.

"Maybe there ain't one more sorry than yours truly."

"What!"

"Jest that."

"It's junk you're talking."

Jim smiled whimsically.

"Nope, it's God's truth. I didn't figure it all out till I came here. I
wish I hadn't sold out. I guess I'm best fitted for running mines or
herding cattle, Dan. And I'm leaving all the boys who know me for those
who don't--and I don't git on with folks who don't know me. God knows what
per