at Neale had not seen before.

"Mister, don't I know yez?" leered Shane, studying Neale with bleary
eyes.

Neale did not care to be remembered. The waiter brought his dinner,
which turned out to be a poor one at a high price. After eating, Neale
went out and began to saunter along the walk. The sun had set and the
wind had gone down. There was no flying dust. The street was again
crowded with men, but nothing like it had been after the arrival of
the train. No one paid much attention to Neale. On that walk he counted
nineteen saloons, and probably some of the larger places were of like
nature, but not so wide open to the casual glance.

Neale strolled through the town from end to end, and across the railroad
outside the limits, to a high bank, where he sat down. The desert was
beautiful away to the west, with its dull, mottled hues backed by gold
and purple, with its sweep and heave and notched horizon. Near at hand
it seemed drab and bare. He watched a long train of flat and box cars
come in, and saw that every car swarmed with soldiers and laborers. The
train discharged its load of thousands, and steamed back for more.

Twilight fell. All hours were difficult for Neale, but twilight was the
most unendurable, for it had been the hour Allie Lee loved best, and
during which she and Neale had walked hand in hand along the brook, back
there in the lovely and beautiful valley in the hills. Neale could not
sit still long; he could not rest, nor sleep well, nor work, nor indeed
be of any use to himself or to any one, and all because he was haunted
and driven by the memory of Allie Lee. And at such quiet hours as this,
in the midst of the turmoil he had sought for weeks, a sadness filled
his soul, and an eternal remorse. The love that had changed him and the
life that had failed him seemed utterly misrelated.

To and fro he paced on the bare ridge while twilight shadowed. A star
twinkled in the west, a night wind began to seep the sand. The desert,
vast, hidden, mysterious, yet so free and untrammeled, darkened.

Lights began to flash up along the streets of Benton, and presently
Neale became aware of a low and mounting hum, like a first stir of angry
bees.

The loud and challenging strains of a band drew Neale toward the center
of the main street, where men were pouring into a big tent.

He halted outside and watched. This strident, businesslike, quick-step
music and the sight of the men and women attracted thereby ma