"This here town,"--read a letter that Hollis received from Weary late in
September--"aint fit for no man to live in which thinks anythink of
hisself, in the first place theres two many folks here which dont seem
to know what to do with themselves they just keep millin around an actin
like they was ready to stampead any time. In the 2nd place im runnin shy
of dust an id admire for to receave about a months pay which i wont
charge two you bein as ive already spent more then i ought two its a
good thing i got a return ticket or id be in a hell of a fix when i got
ready to come back last nite the doctor at the hospittle said hed
operate on ed today which hes already done this mornin an eds restin
easy though the doc dont know whether hes goin to git well or not but
hes hopin an ile let you know by telegraph if he gits any worse which is
all for this time.

P. S. say boss dont forgit to hustel that coin ile shure make it right
with you i forgot to tell you that i got cleaned out by a card sharper
here i would have tore him apart but about a million sheriffs piled onto
me an i dident have no chancst what in hell does any town need with so
many sheriffs.
"Weary.

"P. S. id like to be home for the round-up but reckon i wont make it.

"Weary."

Nellie Hazelton did not see this letter, though Hollis told her that Ed
had been operated on and that he was doing as well as could be expected.
And the telegraph that night flashed Weary's "coin" to him.

The days passed all too quickly now, for the time for the fall round-up
was at hand and Hollis realized with regret that his daily rides--with
Nellie Hazelton as a companion--must soon be discontinued.

The nights had already grown cool; snow had appeared on the mountain
peaks; the basin was no longer a great green bowl, but resembled a
mammoth, concave palette upon which nature had mixed her colors--yellow
and gold and brown, with here and there a blotch of red and purple, a
dash of green,--lingering over the season--and great, wide stretches of
gray. The barren spots seemed to grow more barren--mocked by the scarlet
blossoms of the cactus that seemed to be everlasting, and the fringing,
yellow soap weed, hardy, defying the advancing winter. Razor-Back ridge
was a desolate place. Never attractive, it reared aloft barren and
somber, frowning down upon its