"Gosh!" he breathed, softly, "ain't you an' I had some nonsensical
times? I ain't a damned bit sorry, neither. But our trails fork here.
Maybe for a while--maybe for ever. But if it is for ever, my average
will be right honourable if I live to be a hundred." Alice noticed how
boyish the clean-cut features looked when he smiled that way. The
other smile--the masking, cynical smile--made him ten years older. The
face was once more grave, and he raised the bottle from the rock. "So
long," he said, and there was just that touch of honest regret in his
voice with which he would have parted from a friend. "So long. I've
got a choice to make--an' I don't choose you."

The hand that held the bottle was empty. There was a moment of silence
and then from far below came the tinkle of smashing glass. The Texan
got up, adjusted the silk scarf at his neck, rolled a cigarette, and
clambering down the sharp descent, made his way toward the grazing
horses. Alice watched for a moment as he walked up to his own horse,
stroked his neck, and lightly cuffed at the ears which the horse laid
back as he playfully snapped at his master's hand. Then she scrambled
from her hiding-place and hurried unobserved to her tent, where she
threw herself upon the blankets with a sound that was somehow very like
a sob.

When the breakfast of cold coffee and biscuits was finished the Texan
watched Endicott's clumsy efforts to roll a cigarette.

"Better get you a piece of twine to do it with, Win," he grinned; "you
sure are a long ways from home when it comes to braidin' a smoke. Saw
a cow-hand do it once with one hand. In a show, it was in Cheyenne,
an' he sure was some cowboy--in the show. Come out onto the flats one