s near
its end, Annixter plainly saw Magnus Derrick's ploughs, their bright
coating of red and green paint setting a single brilliant note in all
this array of grey and brown.

Annixter halted, watching the train file past, carrying Derrick's
ploughs away from his ranch, at this very time of the first rain,
when they would be most needed. He watched it, silent, thoughtful, and
without articulate comment. Even after it passed he sat in his place a
long time, watching it lose itself slowly in the distance, its prolonged
rumble diminishing to a faint murmur. Soon he heard the engine sounding
its whistle for the Long Trestle.

But the moving train no longer carried with it that impression of terror
and destruction that had so thrilled Presley's imagination the night
before. It passed slowly on its way with a mournful roll of wheels, like
the passing of a cortege, like a file of artillery-caissons charioting
dead bodies; the engine's smoke enveloping it in a mournful veil,
leaving a sense of melancholy in its wake, moving past there,
lugubrious, lamentable, infinitely sad under the grey sky and under
the grey mist of rain which continued to fall with a subdued, rustling
sound, steady, persistent, a vast monotonous murmur that seemed to come
from all quarters of the horizon at once.

CHAPTER III

When Annixter arrived at the Los Muertos ranch house that same evening,
he found a little group already assembled in the dining-room. Magnus
Derrick, wearing the frock coat of broadcloth that he had put on for
the occasion, stood with his back to the fireplace. Harran sat close at
hand, one leg thrown over the arm of his chair. Presley lounged on the
sofa, in corduroys and high laced boots, smoking cigarettes. Broderson
leaned on his folded arms at one corner of the dining table, and
Genslinger, editor and proprietor of the principal newspaper of the
county, the "Bonneville Mercury," stood with his hat and driving gloves
under his arm, opposite Derrick, a half-emptied glass of whiskey and
water in his hand.

As Annixter entered he heard Genslinger observe: "I'll have a leader in
the 'Mercury' to-morrow that will interest you people. There's some talk
of your ranch lands being graded in value this winter. I suppose you
will all buy?"

In an instant the editor's words had riveted upon him the attention of
every man in the room. Annixter broke the moment's silence that followed
with the remark:

"Well, it's about time