criticism of the Eastern tourist or "greenhorn," and reddened under the
bold scrutiny of a pair of black inquisitive eyes behind an eyeglass.
That annoyance was communicated, though in a lesser degree, even to the
bearded Demorest and Stacy. It was an unexpected contact with that great
world in which they were so soon to enter. They felt ashamed of
their appearance, and yet ashamed of that feeling. They felt a secret
satisfaction when Barker said, "They'd open their eyes wider if they
knew what was in that pack-saddle," and yet they corrected him for what
they were pleased to call his "snobbishness." They hurried a little
faster as the road became more frequented, as if eager to shorten their
distance to clean clothes and civilization.

Only Demorest began to linger in the rear. This contact with the
stagecoach had again brought him face to face with his buried past. He
felt his old dream revive, and occasionally turned to look back upon
the dark outlines of Black Spur, under whose shadow it had returned so
often, and wondered if he had left it there forever, and it were now
slowly exhaling with the thinned and dying smoke of their burning cabin.

His companions, knowing his silent moods, had preceded him at some
distance, when he heard the soft sound of ambling hoofs on the thick
dust, and suddenly the light touch of Jack Hamlin's gauntlet on his
shoulder. The mustang Jack bestrode was reeking with grime and sweat,
but Jack himself was as immaculate and fresh as ever. With a delightful
affectation of embarrassment and timidity he began flicking the side
buttons of his velvet vaquero trousers with the thong of his riata.
"I reckoned to sling a word along with you before you went," he said,
looking down, "but I'm so shy that I couldn't do it in company. So I
thought I'd get it off on you while you were alone."