He never once dreamed that the memory of cheerful, steady-going Ches influenced him toward starting on his friendly pilgrimage the Ford Campbell whom Mason had known eight years before; a very different Ford Campbell, be it said, from the one who had caused a whole town to breathe freer for his absence.
Of his wife Ford had thought less often and less uncomfortably since he left the town wherein had occurred the untoward incident of his marriage.

He was not unaccustomed to doing foolish things when he was drunk, and as a rule he made it a point to ignore them afterwards.

His mysterious, matrimonial accident was beginning to seem less of a real catastrophe than before, and the anticipation of meeting Ches Mason was rapidly taking precedence of all else in his mind.
So, with almost his normal degree of careless equanimity, he faced again the rim of hills--nearer they were now, with a deeper tinge that was almost purple where the shadows lined them here and there.

Somewhere out that way lay the Double Cross ranch.

Forty miles, one man told him it was; another, forty-three.