"Get fat yourself while you're about it, Presley," he observed, as the
two stood up and shook hands.

"There shouldn't be any lack of food on a wheat ship. Bread enough,
surely."

"Little monotonous, though. 'Man cannot live by bread alone.' Well,
you're really off. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, sir."

And as Presley issued from the building and stepped out into the street,
he was abruptly aware of a great wagon shrouded in white cloth, inside
of which a bass drum was being furiously beaten. On the cloth, in great
letters, were the words:

"Vote for Lyman Derrick, Regular Republican Nominee for Governor of
California."

*****

The "Swanhilda" lifted and rolled slowly, majestically on the ground
swell of the Pacific, the water hissing and boiling under her forefoot,
her cordage vibrating and droning in the steady rush of the trade winds.
It was drawing towards evening and her lights had just been set.
The master passed Presley, who was leaning over the rail smoking a
cigarette, and paused long enough to remark:

"The land yonder, if you can make it out, is Point Gordo, and if you
were to draw a line from our position now through that point and carry
it on about a hundred miles further, it would just about cross Tulare
County not very far from where you used to live."

"I see," answered Presley, "I see. Thanks. I am glad to know that."

The master passed on, and Presley, going up to the quarter deck, looked
long and earnestly at the faint line of mountains that showed vague and
bluish above the waste of tumbling water.

Those were the mountains of the Coast range and beyond them was what
once had been his home. Bonneville was there, and Guadalajara and
Los Muertos and Quien Sabe, the Mission of San Juan, the Seed ranch,
Annixter's desolated home and Dyke's ruined hop-fields.

Well, it was all over now, that terrible drama through which he had
lived. Already it was far distant from him; but once again it rose in
his memory, portentous, sombre, ineffaceable. He passed it all in review
from the day of his first meeting with Vanamee to the day of his parting
with Hilma. He saw it all--the great sweep of country opening to view
from the summit of the hills at the head waters of Broderson's Creek;
the barn dance at Annixter's, the harness room with its jam of furious
men; the quiet garden of the Mission; Dyke's house, his flight upon the
engine, his brave fight in the chaparral; Lyman Derrick at bay in the
dining-ro