ell descended on the Coldstream country in a bitter temper, for the
job was far beneath his professional dignity as he looked at it, and he
knew that in the meantime others would get better work to which he
considered himself entitled. Indeed, he had come within an ace of
resigning, and had insisted, as a condition, on a definite promise of
something very good in the immediate future.

When he stepped off the train at the little Coldstream station he was
already prejudiced against the country, its inhabitants, and its
future; and what he saw as the train rumbled away into the distance did
not tend to improve his temper.

Coldstream itself for years had amounted to little more than a
post-office address. From the time of its building in the days of a
boom which had no foundation, and therefore no permanence, it had
retrogressed steadily. Now it was picking up. But although times were
beginning to improve, it still bore many of the earmarks of an
abandoned camp. The struggle for life during the lean years was more
apparent in outward sign than was the present convalescence. Most of
the houses were now occupied, but almost all were unpainted, stained
gray and brown by wind and sun and snow, forlorn and hideous things of
loosened boards and flapping ends of tarred sheeting.

Although it was only spring, the road which wound from nowhere between
the unsightly shacks was ankle deep in dust. The day was unseasonably
warm, the air still. The dust lay on the young leaves of the occasional
clumps of cottonwoods, and seemed to impregnate the air so that it was
perceptible to the nostrils--a warm, dry, midsummer smell, elusive, but
pervasive. The whole land swam and shimmered in hot sunshine. The
unpainted buildings danced in it, blurring with the heat waves. Save
for the occasional green of cottonwoods, the land lay in the brown
nakedness of a dry spring, wearying the eye with its sameness.

Farwell swore to himself at the prospect, feeling his grievance against
his employers and the world at large become more acute. He considered
himself ill-used, slighted, and he registered a mental vow to rush his
work and be quit of the accursed place at the earliest possible moment.

The individual who seemed to combine the functions of station agent and
baggage hustler approached, wheeling a truck. He was a small man,
gray-headed, with a wrinkled, wizened face, and eyes of faded blue. To
him the engineer addressed himself.

"I'm Farwel