Far, very far off, there was approaching a little band of strange, small, bleating, woolly creatures, to whose driver Mother Daly refused bed and board.

The cattle chutes were silent, the corral was empty.

At the Cottage bar the keeper had at last found a key to the door.

Up and down the Trail, east and west of the Trail, all was quiet, bare, and desolate.

At some signal--some signal written on the sky--all the old life of Ellisville had taken up its journey into a farther land, into another day.