anyon he struck into it.

He presently found himself in a network of small gorges that twisted
away into the hills without any system whatever, as far as he could see.
He took one that seemed to lead straightest toward where the sun would
rise next morning, and climbed laboriously deeper and deeper into the
hills. After awhile he had to descend from the ridge where he found
himself standing bleakly revealed against a lowering, slaty sky that
dripped rain incessantly. As far as he could see were hills and more
hills, bald and barren except in certain canyons whose deeper shadows
told of timber. Away off to the southwest a bright light showed
briefly--the headlight of a Santa Fe train, he guessed it must be. To
the east, which he faced, the land was broken with bare hills that fell
just short of being mountains. He went down the first canyon that opened
in that direction, ploughing doggedly ahead into the unknown.

That night Bud camped in the lee of a bank that was fairly well screened
with rocks and bushes, and dined off broiled bacon and bread and a can
of beans with tomato sauce, and called it a meal. At first he was not
much inclined to take the risk of having a fire big enough to keep him
warm. Later in the night he was perfectly willing to take the risk, but
could not find enough dry wood. His rainproofed overcoat became quite
soggy and damp on the inside, in spite of his efforts to shield himself
from the rain. It was not exactly a comfortable night, but he worried
through it somehow.

At daylight he opened another can of beans and made himself two thick
bean sandwiches, and walked on while he ate them slowly. They tasted
mighty good, Bud thought--but he wished fleetingly that he was back
in the little green cottage on North Sixth Street, getting his own
breakfast. He felt as though he could drink about four cups of coffee;
and as to hotcakes--! But breakfast in the little green cottage recalled
Marie, and Marie was a bitter memory. All the more bitter because he
did not know where burrowed the root of his hot resentment. In a strong
man's love for his home and his mate was it rooted, and drew therefrom
the wormwood of love thwarted and spurned.

After awhile the high air currents flung aside the clouds like curtains
before a doorway. The sunlight flashed out dazzlingly and showed Bud
that the world, even this tumbled world, was good to look upon. His
instincts were all for the great outdoors, and from such the