almost deserted. To Keith, whose former acquaintance with the place had
been entirely after nightfall, the view of it now was almost a shock--the
miserable shacks, the gaudy saloon fronts, the littered streets, the
dingy, unpainted hotel, the dirty flap of canvas, the unoccupied road, the
dull prairie sweeping away to the horizon, all composed a hideous picture
beneath the sun glare. He could scarcely find a man to attend his horse,
and at the restaurant a drowsy Chinaman had to be shaken awake, and
frightened into serving him. He sat down to the miserable meal oppressed
with disgust--never before had his life seemed so mean, useless, utterly
without excuse.

He possessed the appetite of the open, of the normal man in perfect
physical health, and he ate heartily his eyes wandering out of the open
window down the long, dismal street. A drunken man lay in front of the
"Red Light" Saloon sleeping undisturbed; two cur dogs were snarling at
each other just beyond over a bone; a movers' wagon was slowly coming in
across the open through a cloud of yellow dust. That was all within the
radius of vision. For the first time in years the East called him--the old
life of cleanliness and respectability. He swore to himself as he tossed
the Chinaman pay for his breakfast, and strode out onto the steps. Two men
were coming up the street together from the opposite direction--one lean,
dark-skinned, with black goatee, the other heavily set with closely
trimmed gray beard. Keith knew the latter, and waited, leaning against the
door, one hand on his hip.

"Hullo, Bob," he said genially; "they must have routed you out pretty
early to-day."

"They shore did, Jack," was the response. He came up the steps somewhat
heavily, his companion stopping below. "The boys raise hell all night, an'