Once he had drifted into the mountains, and took a chance in the mines, but the wide plains called him back once more to their desert loneliness.

What an utter waste it all seemed, now that he looked back upon it.

Eight years of fighting, hardship, and rough living, and what had they brought him?
The reputation of a hard rider, a daring player at cards, a quick shot, a scorner of danger, and a bad man to fool with--that was the whole of a record hardly won.

The man's eyes hardened, his lips set firmly, as this truth came crushing home.

A pretty life story surely, one to be proud of, and with probably no better ending than an Indian bullet, or the flash of a revolver in some barroom fight.
The narrow valley along which he was travelling suddenly changed its direction, compelling him to climb the rise of the ridge.