than any one in the world, he suddenly thought, he wanted Charley's
good opinion. And how must she see him? Impatient, ugly tempered,
selfish,--excepting toward Felicia. Thank God, she had seen how he had
loved that little child.

And so, here he was at thirty, a failure. It was better to acknowledge
it now: to admit that the fault was his; to go on into some mining camp
and lose himself than to drag on making a fool of himself at the Sun
Plant. He would rest a little longer, then start on in the moonlight.

Once more Roger stretched himself out on his bed of sand. As he did so,
Peter brayed again. Roger jumped to his feet, the cold sweat starting
from his forehead. Felicia's little burro! What devil could have entered
into him that he could treat a dumb brute so! He tore off his clothing
and jumped into the water. It was not easy to breast the current, he was
so tired. But he made the bank and staggering up to the mesquite tree,
he untied Peter.

"There, old man," he said gently, "go back to your friends."

Then he turned to cross the river. He was carried far below his camp
this time and for some minutes after he landed he lay naked and
exhausted before he could urge himself back to the cottonwood log and
climb into his clothing.

He was in a state now of utter despair. No grief, no anger can bring to
the human mind the depth of suffering that self-loathing can. Roger lay
with his forehead pillowed on his arm, for the first time in his life
facing his own weaknesses. Just in the degree that his brain was
clearer, his mind more honest, his nerves more highly strung than other
men's, just in that degree did he suffer more.

Perhaps, after a time, he slipped into a half doze. But it seemed to him
that the touch on his forehead was his mother's. No, it was Felicia's or
was it Charley's? Again Charley and Felicia merged in his mind. Felicia
was looking at him with adoring eyes. Thank God once more that she could
never grow up to know the truth about him. But she had grown up and was
stooping over him with a gentle hand on his forehead as if she
understood him and forgave him a thousand times over.

It was Charley, of course, Charley with the great heart and the seeing
mind. What an awful thing for him to have brought another failure to the
valley! Charley had had a sad life. Perhaps she had had dreams of her
own, before she merged her destiny with Dick's. Dick was a poor
weakling. But Felicia's death had saved him