he had thought of any one connected with the girl he had wronged
he had long forgotten. But the consequences of such wrong were
far-reaching. They struck at the roots of a home. Here in the
desert he was confronted by the spectacle of a splendid man, a
father, wasting his life because he could not forget--because
there was nothing left to live for. Cameron understood better now
why his comrade was drawn by the desert.

"Well, tell me more?" asked Cameron, earnestly.

"It was the old, old story. My girl was pretty and free. The
young bucks ran after her. I guess she did not run away from them.
And I was away a good deal--working in another town. She was in love
with a wild fellow. I knew nothing of it till too late. He was engaged
to marry her. But he didn't come back. And when the disgrace became
plain to all, my girl left home. She went West. After a while I heard
from her. She was well--working--living for her baby. A long
time passed. I had no ties. I drifted West. Her lover had also
gone West. In those days everybody went West. I trailed him,
intending to kill him. But I lost his trail. Neither could I find
any trace of her. She had moved on, driven, no doubt, by the hound
of her past. Since then I have taken to the wilds, hunting gold
on the desert."

"Yes, it's the old, old story, only sadder, I think," said Cameron;
and his voice was strained and unnatural. "Pardner, what Illinois town
was it you hailed from?"

"Peoria."