There are fenced fields and in them stand sleek round beasts, deep in crops such as their ancestors never saw.

In a little town nearby is the hurry and bustle of modern life.

This town is far out upon what was called the frontier, long after the frontier has really gone.

Guarding its ghost here stood a little army post, once one of the pillars, now one of the monuments of the West.
Out from the tiny settlement in the dusk of evening, always facing toward where the sun is sinking, might be seen riding, not so long ago, a figure we should know.

He would thread the little lane among the fences, following the guidance of hands other than his own, a thing he would once have scorned to do.