ductor.

"Four years."

"Norada must have been pretty isolated before that."

"Thirty miles in a coach or a Ford car."

"I was reading the other day," said Bassett, "about the Judson Clark
case. Have a cigar? Got time to sit down?"

"You a newspaper man?"

"Oil well supplies," said Bassett easily. "Well, in this article it
seemed some woman or other had made a confession. It sounded fishy to
me."

"Well, I'll tell you about that." The conductor sat down and bit off the
end of his cigar. "I knew the Donaldsons well, and Maggie Donaldson was
an honest woman. But I'll tell you how I explain the thing. Donaldson
died, and that left her pretty much alone. The executors of the Clark
estate kept her on the ranch, but when the estate was settled three
years ago she had to move. That broke her all up. She's always said he
wasn't dead. She kept the house just as it was, and my wife says she had
his clothes all ready and everything."

"That rather sounds as though the story is true, doesn't it?"

"Not necessarily. It's my idea she got from hoping to moping, so to
speak. She went in to town regular for letters for ten years, and the
postmaster says she never got any. She was hurt in front of the post
office. The talk around here is that she's been off her head for the
last year or two."

"But they found the cabin."

"Sure they did," said the conductor equably. "The cabin was no secret.
It was an old fire station before they put the new one on Goat Mountain.
I spent a month in it myself, once, with a dude who wanted to take
pictures of bear. We found a bear, but it charged the camera and I'd be
running yet if I hadn't come to civilization."

When he had gone Bassett fell into deep thought. So Maggie Donaldson
had gone to the post office for ten years. He tried to visualize those
faithful, wearisome journeys, through spring mud and winter snow, always
futile and always hopeful. He did not for a moment believe that she had
"gone off her head." She had been faithful to the end, as some women
were, and in the end, too, as had happened before, her faith had killed
her.

And again he wondered at the curious ability of some men to secure
loyalty. They might go through life, tearing down ideals and destroying
illusions to the last, but always there was some faithful hand to
rebuild, some faithful soul to worship.

He was somewhat daunted at the size and bustling activity of Norada.
Its streets were paved and well-lighted,