"You will be, though." It was the ultimatum of one unaccustomed to
contradiction. "No man could live here alone. He'd go insane."

"I eat at the ranch house sometimes, but I live alone."

"You won't do so, though, always." Again it was the voice of finality.

The Indian looked straight ahead into the indefinite distance where the
earth and sky met.

"No, I shall not do so always," he corroborated.

"I thought so." It was the tolerant approval of the prophet verified.
"I'd be doing the same thing myself if I lived here long. Conformity's
in the air. I felt it the moment I left the railroad and struck
this--wilderness." Once again the unconscious shoulder shrug. "It's an
atavism, this life. I've reverted a generation already. It's only a
question of time till one would be back among the cave-dwellers. The
thing's in the air, I say."

Again no comment. Again for any indication he gave, the Indian might not
have heard.

Craig straightened, as one conscious that he was talking over his
companion's head.

"When, if I may ask, is it to be, your marriage, I mean?" he returned.
"While I am here?"