The agent was right; he had overstayed the limit and was without five dollars in his pocket.

He turned weak with a sudden sense of his helplessness and the desolation of his surroundings.

He was like a man whose horse fails him on a desert.

Taking a seat on a bench in a dark corner of the waiting room he gave himself up to a study of the situation.

To be alone in the Needle Range was nothing to worry about, but to be alone and without money in a city scared him.
For two hours he sat there, his thoughts milling like a herd of restless cattle, turning aimlessly around and around in their tracks.