He looked again, timidly.

In spite of an extraordinary head-dress or crown that she wore as the "Goddess of Fortune," he recognized, twisted in its tinsel, a certain scarlet vine which he had seen before; in spite of the hoarse formula which she was continually repeating, he recognized the foreign accent.

It was the woman of the stage-coach! With a sudden dread that she might recognize him, and likewise demand his services "for luck," he turned and fled.
Once more in the open air, there came upon him a vague loathing and horror of the restless madness and feverish distraction of this half-civilized city.

It was the more powerful that it was vague, and the outcome of some inward instinct.

He found himself longing for the pure air and sympathetic loneliness of the plains and wilderness; he began to yearn for the companionship of his humble associates--the teamster, the scout Gildersleeve, and even Jim Hooker.