“Henney had to go to Omaha.  Boone is sick at Fort Fetterman.  Baxter has only a new green hand out there, an’ they’ve sure struck a snag.”

“That’s too bad,” replied Neale, still thoughtfully.  “Is—­the chief —­is General Lodge there?”

“Yes.  There’s a trooper camp.  Colonel Dillon an’ some of the officers have their wives out on a little visit to see the work.  They couldn’t stand Benton.”

“Well—­you thank Baxter and tell him I’m sorry I must refuse,” said Neale.

“You won’t come!” ejaculated Campbell.

Neale shook his head.  Larry reached out with big, eager hands.

“See heah, pard, I reckon you will go.”

Campbell acted strangely, as if he wanted to say more, but did not have authority to do so.  He looked dismayed.  Then he said:  “All right, Neale.  I’ll take your message.  But you can expect me back.”

And he went on his way.

“Neale, shore there’s somethin’ in the wind,” said Larry.  “Wal, it jest tickles me.  They can’t build the railroad without you.”

“Would you go back to work?” queried Neale.

“Shore I would if they’d have me.  But I reckon thet little run-in of mine with Smith has made bad feelin’.  An’ come to think of thet, if I did go back I’d only have to fight some of Smith’s friends.  An’ I reckon I’d better not go.  It’d only make trouble for you.”

“Me! ...  You heard me refuse.”

“Shore I heerd you,” drawled Larry, softly, “but you’re goin’ back if I have to hawg-tie you an’ pack you out there on a hoss.”

Neale said no more.  If he had said another word he would have betrayed himself to his friend.  He yearned for his old work.  To think that the engineer corps needed him filled him with joy.  But at the same time he knew what an effort it would take to apply himself to any task.  He hated to attempt it.  He doubted himself.  He was morbid.  All that day he wandered around at Larry’s heels, half oblivious of what was going on.  After dark he slipped away from his friend to be alone.  And being alone in the dark quietness brought home to him the truth of a strange, strong growth, out of the depths of him, that was going to overcome his morbid craving to be idle, to drift, to waste his life on a haunting memory.

He could not sleep that night, and so was awake when Larry lounged in, slow and heavy.  The cowboy was half-drunk.  Neale took him to task, and they quarreled.  Finally Larry grew silent and fell asleep.  After that Neale likewise dropped into slumber.

In the morning Larry was again his old, cool, easy, reckless self, and had apparently forgotten Neale’s sharp words.  Neale, however, felt a change in himself.  This was the first morning for a long time that he had not hated the coming of daylight.

When he and Larry went out the sun was high.  For Neale there seemed something more than sunshine in the air.  At sight of Campbell, waiting in the same place in which they had encountered him yesterday, Neale’s pulses quickened.