free of thoughts of her. That was the
trouble with him, he brooded morosely. He couldn't let his thoughts ride
free, any more. They kept heading straight for Marie. He could not see
why she should cling so to his memory; he had not wronged her--unless
it was by letting her go without making a bigger fight for their home.
Still, she had gone of her own free will. He was the one that had been
wronged--why, hadn't they lied about him in court and to the gossipy
neighbors? Hadn't they broke him? No. If the mine panned out big as Cash
seemed to think was likely, the best thing he could do was steer clear
of San Jose. And whether it panned out or not, the best thing he could
do was forget that such girl as Marie had ever existed..

Which was all very well, as far as it went. The trouble was that
resolving not to think of Marie, calling up all the bitterness he could
muster against her memory, did no more toward blotting her image from
his mind than did the miles and the months he had put between them.

He reached the town in a dour mood of unrest, spite of the promise of
wealth he carried in his pocket. He mailed the package and the letter,
and went to a saloon and had a highball. He was not a drinking man--at
least, he never had been one, beyond a convivial glass or two with his
fellows--but he felt that day the need of a little push toward optimism.
In the back part of the room three men were playing freeze-out. Bud went
over and stood with his hands in his pockets and watched them, because
there was nothing else to do, and because he was still having some
trouble with his thoughts. He was lonely, without quite knowing what
ailed him. He hungered for friends to hail him with that cordial,
"Hello, Bud!" when they saw him coming.

No one in Alpine had said hello, Bud, when he came walking in that day.
The postmaster bad given him one measuring glance when he had weighed
the package of ore, but he had not spoken except to name the amount of
postage required. The bartender had made some remark about the weather,
and had smiled with a surface friendliness that did not deceive Bud for
a moment. He knew too well that the smile was not for him, but for his
patronage.

He watched the game. And when the man opposite him pushed back his chair
and, looking up at Bud, asked if he wanted to sit in, Bud went and sat
down, buying a dollar's worth of chips as an evidence of his intention
to play. His interest in the game was not keen. H