It was a morbid dominance of the mind.

He fought it as he would have fought a devil.

And mastery still was his.

But his brow was clammy and his heart was leaden when he had wrested that somber, mystic control from his will.
"Reckon I'd do well to take up this trail to-morrow an' see where it leads," he said, and as a gloomy man, burdened with thought, he retraced his way down the long slope, and over the benches, to the grassy slopes and aspen groves, and thus to the sage hills.
It was dark when he reached the cabin, and Moore had supper almost ready.
"Well, old-timer, you look fagged out," called out the cowboy, cheerily.
"Throw off your boots, wash up, and come and get it!" "Pard Wils, I'm not reboundin' as natural as I'd like.

I reckon I've lived some years before I got here, an' a lifetime since." "Wade, you have a queer look, lately," observed Moore, shaking his head solemnly.