“Are you in daid earnest?” asked Larry, huskily.

Neale nodded gloomily.  He did not even regret the effect of his speech upon the cowboy.  He divined that somehow the moment was as critical and fateful for Larry, but he did not care.  The black spell was enfolding him.  All seemed hard, cold, monstrous within his breast.  He could not love anything.  He was lost.  He realized the magnificent loyalty of this simple Texan, who was his true friend.

“Reddy, for God’s sake don’t make me ashamed to look you in the eyes,” appealed Neale.  “I want to go on.  You know!”

“Wal, I reckon there ain’t anythin’ to hold me now,” drawled Larry.  He had changed as he spoke.  He had aged.  The dry humor of the cowboy, the amiable ease, were wanting.

“Oh, forgive my utter selfishness!” burst out Neale.  “I’m not the man I was.  But don’t think I don’t love you.”

They went out together, and the hum of riotous Benton called them; the lights beckoned and the melancholy night engulfed them.

Next morning late, on the way to breakfast, Neale encountered a young man whose rough, bronzed face somehow seemed familiar.

At sight of Neale this young fellow brightened and he lunged forward.

“Neale!  Lookin’ for you was like huntin’ for a needle in a haystack.”

Neale could not place him, and he did not try hard for recognition, for that surely would recall his former relations to the railroad.

“I don’t remember you,” replied Neale.

“I’ll bet Larry does,” said the stranger, with a grin at the cowboy.

“Shore.  Your name’s Campbell an’ you was a lineman for Baxter,” returned Larry.

“Right you are,” said Campbell, offering his hand to Neale, and then to Larry.  He appeared both glad and excited.

“I guess I recall you now,” said Neale, thoughtfully.  “You said—­you were hunting me?”

“Well, I should smile!” returned Campbell, and handed Neale a letter.

Neale tore it open and hastily perused its contents.  It was a brief, urgent request from Baxter that Neale should return to work.  The words, almost like an order, made Neale’s heart swell for a moment.  He stood there staring at the paper.  Larry read the letter over his shoulder.

“Pard, shore I was expectin’ jest thet there, an’ I say go!” exclaimed Larry.

Neale slowly shook his head.

Campbell made a quick, nervous movement.  “Neale, I was to say—­tell —­There’s more ‘n your old job waitin’ for you.”

“What do you mean?” queried Neale.

“That’s all, except the corps have struck a snag out here west of Benton.  It’s a bad place.  You an’ Henney were west in the hills when this survey was made.  It’s a deep wash—­bad grade an’ curves.  The gang’s stuck.  An’ Baxter swore, ’We’ve got to have Neale back on the job!’”

“Where’s Henney?” asked Neale, rather thickly.  Campbell’s words affected him powerfully.