en eagle, but his soul was far ahead, swooping above the swells
that cut into the murky sky. His eyes studied every rod of soil as he
retraced his way up that great wind-swept slope, noting every change in
vegetation or settlement. Five years before he had crept like a lizard;
now he was rushing straight on like the homing eagle who sees his home
crag gleam in the setting sun.

The cactus looked up at him with spiney face. The first prairie dog
sitting erect uttered a greeting to which he smiled. The first mirage
filled his heart with a rush of memories of wild rides, and the grease
wood recalled a hundred odorous camp fires. He was getting home.

The people at the stations grew more unkempt, untamed. The broad hats
and long mustaches of the men proclaimed the cow country at last. It
seemed as though he might at any moment recognize some of them. At a
certain risk to himself he got off the train at one or two points to
talk with the boys. As it grew dark he took advantage of every wait to
stretch his legs and enjoy the fresh air, so different in its clarity
and crisp dryness from the leaf-burdened, mist-filled atmosphere of
Marmion. He lifted his eyes to the West with longing too great for
words, eager to see the great peaks peer above the plain's rim.

The night was far spent when the brakeman called the name of the little
town in which he had left his outfit, and he rose up stiff and sore from
his cramped position.

Kintuck, restless from long confinement in a stall, chuckled with joy
when his master entered and called to him. It was still dark, but that
mattered little to such as Mose. He flung the saddle on and cinched it
tight. He rolled his extra clothes in his blanket and tied it behind
his saddle, and then, with one hand on his pommel, he said to the
hostler, moved by a bitter recklessness of mind:

"Well, that squares us, stranger. If anybody asks you which-a-way 'Black
Mose' rode jist say ye didn't notice." A leap, a rush of hoofs, and the
darkness had eaten both horse and man.

It was a long ride, and as he rode the dawn came over the plains, swift,
silent, majestic with color. His blood warmed in his limbs and his head
lifted. He was at home in the wild once more, all ties were cut between
him and the East. Mary was not for him. Maud had grown indifferent, Jack
would never come West, and Mr. and Mrs. Burns were merely cheery
memories. There was nothing now to look backward upon--nothing to check
his ca