By and by he rose abruptly, turning his head to the north, in the direction of the Mission church of San Juan.

"I think," he said to Presley, "that I must be going." "Going?
Where to at this time of night ?" "Off there." Vanamee made an uncertain gesture toward the north.
"Good-bye," and without another word he disappeared in the grey of the twilight.

Presley was left alone wondering.

He found his horse, and, tightening the girths, mounted and rode home under the sheen of the stars, thoughtful, his head bowed.

Before he went to bed that night he sent "The Toilers" to the Sunday Editor of a daily newspaper in San Francisco.
Upon leaving Presley, Vanamee, his thumbs hooked into his empty cartridge belt, strode swiftly down from the hills of the Los Muertos stock-range and on through the silent town of Guadalajara.