purple and amethyst, and through the immeasurable
silence of the night moon and stars bathed the deep valleys in
celestial effulgence. But in the heart of the boy was neither sun, nor
moon, nor stars, but only the black gulfs of loneliness from which his
light had gone out.

Then the old man's horse came home. Dave saw it coming up the trail,
not running wildly, but with nervous gallop and many sidelong turnings
of the head. As the boy watched he found a strange emptiness possess
him; his body seemed a phantom on which his head hung over-heavy. He
spoke to the horse, which pulled up, snorting, before him; noted the
wet neck and flanks, and at last the broken stirrup. Then, slowly and
methodically, and still with that strange sensation of emptiness, he
saddled his own horse and set out on the search. . . .

After the last rites had been paid to the old rancher Dave set about at
once to wind up his affairs, and it was not until then that he
discovered how deeply his father had been involved. The selling of the
cattle and the various effects realized only enough to discharge the
liabilities, and when this had been done Dave found himself with a
considerable area of unmarketable land, a considerable bundle of paid
bills, and his horse, saddle and revolver. He rode his horse to town,
carrying a few articles of wear with him. It was only after a stiff
fight he could bring himself to part with his one companion. The last
miles into town were ridden very slowly, with the boy frequently
leaning forward and stroking the horse's neck and ears.

"Tough doin's, ol' Slop-eye," he would say. "Tough doin's. But it's
got to be done. I can't keep you in town; 't ain't like out on the old
ranch. An' I got a bigger job now than ever you an' me stood in on,
an' we've stood in on some big ones, too, ain't we? But that's gone
an' done; that old life's all busted, all of a sudden, like a bottle.
Busted an' run out. I got a big job on now, an' you can't take no
part. You jus' got to get out. You're done, see?" He sold horse and
saddle for sixty dollars and took a room at a cheap hotel until he
should find work and still cheaper lodgings.

In the evening he walked through the streets of the little cow-town.
It was not altogether new to him; he had frequently visited it for
business or pleasure, but he had never felt the sense of strangeness
which oppressed him this night. In the past he had always been in the
town as a vi