n' I goes back to my traps in the mountains."

"What--became--of--her?" whispered Neale.

Slingerland looked away from him.

"Son! You remember Allie. She'd die, quick!... Wouldn't she, Larry?"

"Shore. Thet girl--couldn't--hev lived a day," replied Larry, thickly.

Neale plunged blindly away from his friends. Then the torture in his
breast seemed to burst. The sobs came, heavy, racking. He sank upon a
box and bowed his head. There Larry and Slingerland found him.

The cowboy looked down with helpless pain. "Aw, pard--don't take it--so
hard," he implored.

But he knew and Slingerland knew that sympathy could do no good here.
There was no hope, no help. Neale was stricken. They stood there, the
elder man looking all the sadness and inevitableness of that wild life,
and the younger, the cowboy, slowly changing to iron.

"Slingerland, you-all said some Californy outfit got Allie?" he queried.

"I'm sure an' sartin," replied the trapper. "Them days there wasn't any
travelin' west, so early after winter. You recollect them four bandits
as rode in on us one day? They was from Californy."

"Wal, I'll be lookin' fer men with thet Californy brand," drawled King,
and in his slow, easy, cool speech there was a note deadly and terrible.

Neale slowly ceased his sobbing. "My nerve's gone," he said, shakily.

"No. It jest broke you all up to see Slingerland. An' it shore did me,
too," replied Larry.

"It's hard, but--" Slingerland could not finish his thought.

"Slingerland, I'm glad to see you, even if it did cut me," said Neale,
more rationally. "I'm surprised, too. Are you here with a load of
pelts?"

"No. Boys, I hed to give up trappin'. I couldn't stand the
loneliness--after--after... An' now I'm killin' buffalo meat for the
soldiers an' the construction gangs. Jest got in on thet train with a
car-load of fresh meat."

"Buffalo meat," echoed Neale. His mind wandered.

"Son, how's your work goin'?"

Neale shook his head.

The cowboy, answering for him, said, "We kind of chucked the work,
Slingerland."

"What? Are you hyar in Benton, doin' nothin'?"

"Shore. Thet's the size of it."

The trapper made a vehement gesture of disapproval and he bent a
scrutinizing gaze upon Neale.

"Son, you've not gone an'--an'--"

"Yes," replied Neale, throwing out his hands. "I quit. I couldn't work.
I CAN'T work. I CAN'T rest or stand still!"

A spasm of immense regret contracted the trapper's face. And Larry King,
l