ily intercourse. She might even become a factor in the
great work of the Obar. But the joy of achievement had been snatched
from him. All that he had foreseen might be achieved in the work, even.
But the process would have been completely robbed of its inspiration, and
was therefore not to be counted worth while.

The thought of the woman's regard for him left him cold. He dwelt upon
it. Suddenly he wondered. Two days ago he could not have thought of it
without a thrill. Now it meant--nothing. He remembered Nan's appeal.
Why--why had it affected him last night? It had not been because
of--Evie.

Nan had talked of justice--duty. He could see no appeal in either now.
Why should he be forced to observance of the laws of justice, or--duty
toward a woman who----?

He stirred restlessly. His attention was drawn to his horse. He moved
over to it and off-saddled. Then he returned to his place at the corral.
The sun was just breaking the horizon. He heard sounds of life coming
from the bunkhouse.

Nan's appeal no longer convinced him--now that he was away from her.
But--he had pledged his word. He could not break his word to Nan,
although he longed--madly longed to resaddle his horse and ride away, and
leave behind him forever this place which had suddenly become so full of
bitter memories. No--he had pledged his word.

Soon he must once more confront his wife. He reviewed the possibilities.
The night long he had spent in considering the position he intended to
place before her. Would she accept it? And--what then? The long days
of work, unlit by any hope of the future. The process of building,
building, which all men desire, without that spark of delight which
inspires the desire. Just the drudgery of it. The resulting wealth and
commercial power of it maybe, but not one moment of the joy with which
only two days before he had regarded the broad vista of the future.

Now the smell of cooking reached him from the bunkhouse. Several men
were moving down toward the corrals. He passed on toward the house. A
moment or so later he stood on the veranda gazing out at the streaming
cattle as they moved toward the wide home pastures, under the practised
hands of the ranchmen. It was a sight to inspire any cattleman, and, for
a moment, the brooding eyes of the master of it all lit with a flash of
their former appreciation. But the change was fleeting. The blue depths
clouded again. The question once mor