sitor; his roots were still in the ranch; he could afford
to notice the ways of the town, and smile to himself a whimsical smile
and go on. But now he was throwing in his lot with the town; he was
going to be one of it, and it stretched no arms of welcome to him. It
snubbed him with its indifference. . . . He became aware that he was
very lonely. He became aware that the gathering twilight in the great
hills had never seemed so vague and empty as the dusk of this strange
town. He realized that he had but one friend in the world; but one,
and of her he knew not so much as her address. . . . He began to
wonder whether he really had a friend at all; whether the girl would
not discard him when he was of no further use just as he had discarded
his faithful old horse. Tears of loneliness and remorse gathered in
his eyes, and a mist not of the twilight blurred the street lamps now
glimmering from their poles. He felt that he had treated the horse
very shabbily indeed. He wanted old Slop-eye back again. He suddenly
wanted him with a terrific longing; wanted him more than anything else
in the world. For a moment he forgot the girl, and all his
homesickness centred about the beast which had been so long his
companion and servant and friend.

"I'll buy him back in the mornin', I will, sure as hell," he said in a
sudden gust of emotion. "We got to stick together. I didn't play fair
with him, but I'll buy him back. Perhaps I can get a job for him, too,
pullin' a light wagon, or somethin'."

The resolution to "play fair" with Slop-eye gradually restored his
cheerfulness, and he walked slowly back to the hotel, looking in at
many window displays as he went. Half shyly he paused before a window
of women's wear; fine, filmy things, soft and elusive, and, he
supposed, very expensive. He wondered if Reenie bought clothes like
that to wear in her city home. And then he began to look for a brown
sweater, and to move from window to window. And presently he found
himself at his hotel.

The men's sitting room now presented a much more animated picture than
when he had registered earlier in the evening. It was filled with
ranchers, cowboys, and cattlemen of all degree; breeders, buyers,
traders, owners and wage-earners, with a sprinkling of townspeople and
others not directly engaged in some phase of the cattle business. The
room was strong with smoke and language and expectoration and
goodfellowship, to which the maudlin