His attention was drawn to his horse. He moved
over to it and off-saddled. Then he returned to his place at the corral.
The sun was just breaking the horizon. He heard sounds of life coming
from the bunkhouse.
Nan's appeal no longer convinced him--now that he was away from her.
But--he had pledged his word. He could not break his word to Nan,
although he longed--madly longed to resaddle his horse and ride away, and
leave behind him forever this place which had suddenly become so full of
bitter memories. No--he had pledged his word.
Soon he must once more confront his wife. He reviewed the possibilities.
The night long he had spent in considering the position he intended to
place before her. Would she accept it? And--what then? The long days
of work, unlit by any hope of the future. The process of building,
building, which all men desire, without that spark of delight which
inspires the desire. Just the drudgery of it. The resulting wealth and
commercial power of it maybe, but not one moment of the joy with which
only two days before he had regarded the broad vista of the future.
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