I found it very depressing--a good many things, in fact, were depressing that day.
I went back to camp and stuck to work for the rest of that week--until some of the boys told me that they had seen the Kings' guests scooting across the prairie in the big touring-car of Weaver's, evidently headed for Helena.
After that I got restless again, and every mile the round-up moved south I took as a special grievance; it put that much greater distance between me and King's Highway--and I had got to that unhealthy stage where every mile wore on my nerves, and all I wanted was to moon around that little butte.

I believe I should even have taken a morbid pleasure in watching the light in her window o' nights, if it had been at all practicable..