hearing a clanging bell up the street in the direction of the hotel,
he strolled away to his dinner.

He found Hapgood scowling into his high-ball glass and dragged him
away to the little dining-room. Both the tables were set. At one of
them the cowboy whom he had seen at the store was already eating with
two of his companions. Conniston and Hapgood were shown to the other
table by the stout Mary. Hapgood cast one glance at the stew and
coarse-looking bread put before him, and pushed his plate away.
Conniston, who had had fewer high-balls and more fresh air, actually
enjoyed his meal. The men at the other table glanced across at them
once and seemed to take no further interest.

Hapgood waited, bored and conventional, until Conniston had finished,
and then the two went back into the bar-room. The sun had gone down,
leaving in the west flaring banners of brilliant, changing colors. The
heat of the day had gone with the setting of the sun, a little lost,
wandering breeze springing up and telling of the fresh coolness of the
coming night. And it was still day, a day softened into a gray
twilight which hung like a misty veil over the desert.

From the card-room came the voices of the proprietor and the men with
whom he was still playing. They had not stopped for their supper,
would not think of eating for hours to come.

"If you feel like excitement--" began Conniston, jerking his head in
the direction of the card-room.

Hapgood interrupted shortly. "No, thanks. I've got a magazine in my
suit-case. I suppose I'll sit up reading it until morning, for I