did not attempt to grasp their significance. They
no longer amused him. His own position, his own condition, no longer
amused him. He felt that he could not laugh; he knew that he would
not. He told himself over and over that he was a fool for attempting
drudgery like this. He vowed that when at last the day's work was done
he would go to Mr. Crawford and say, "I have worked off what I owe
you. I am going to quit." They could think what they chose. They could
laugh if it pleased them. His was a finer nature than theirs; he was a
gentleman, thank God, and no day-laborer.

And night came, and he ate what he could and dragged himself into his
bunk in silence. He saw the glances which were directed toward him
when he came into the bunk-house; he knew what the men were thinking.
He knew what they would say. And while it had been pride until now,
now it was nothing in the world but lack of moral courage which made
him stick to the thing which he hated.

This day again he had seen Roger Hapgood's horse in the stable. He had
heard one of the men say that Hapgood was still resting up at the
house as a guest. He himself had not had a fleeting glimpse of Argyl
Crawford, and he knew that Hapgood was seeing her constantly. A quick
bitterness made up of resentment and a kind of jealousy sprang up
within him. He knew that at least the girl was blameless, and yet he
blamed her. He told himself, knowing that he was wrong, that she was
unfair, unjust, even unkind.

The third day came. It was longer, drearier, wearier than the other
two had been. He began to fear that soon he should have to give up.
His body, instead of becoming gradually inured to the long hours of
toil, seemed to be gradually succumbing to them. He felt that he was
wearing out, breaking down. He did not know if Hapgood were still on
the Half Moon or if he had gone. He did not greatly care.

Brayley was back from the Lone Dog. He saw him at night when he came
into the bunk-house. He and Brayley looked at each other, saying no
word. Brayley turned with a casual remark to one of the men; Conniston
took his place at the table. Still they said nothing to each other,
each man knowing without words that what had passed between them was
passed until some new incident should arise to settle matters for
them. Brayley, being quick of eye, saw that Conniston had adopted at
least one of the customs of the range, and that he carried a revolver
at his belt.

The third day was F