Through the long afternoon Danny eagerly awaited the coming of more events, more distractions. When they came--such as informative bursts from Jed or the passing of the automobile--he forgot for the brief passage of time the throb in his throat, that wailing of the creature in him. But when the two rode on at the shambling trot, with the silence and the immense grandeur all about them, the demands of his appetite were made anew, intensified perhaps by a feeling of his own inconsequence, by the knowledge that should he fail once in standing off those assaults it would mean only another beginning, and harder by far than this one he was experiencing. Every hour of sober reflection, of sordid struggle, added to his estimate of the strength of that self he must subdue. He was going away into the waste places, and a sneaking fear of being removed from the stuff that had kept him keyed commenced to grow, adding to the fleshly wants. If he should be whipped and a surrender be forced? What then? He realized that that doubting was cowardice. He had come out here to have freedom, a new beginning, and now he found himself begging for a way back should the opposition be too great. It was sheer weakness! Cautiously Jed Avery had watched Danny's face, and when he saw anxiety show there as doubt rose, he broke into words: "Yes, sir, Charley was sure a good boy, but th' booze got him." He looked down at his horse's withers so he could not see the start this assertion gave Danny. "He didn't want to be bad, but it's so easy to let go. To be sure, it is. Anyhow, Charley never had a chance, never a look-in. He was good hearted an' meant well--but he didn't have th' backbone." And Danny found that a rage commenced to rise within him, a rage which drove back those queries that had made him weak. Day waned. The sun slid down behind the string of cliffs which stretched on before them at their left. Distances took on their purple veils, a canopy of virgin silver spread above the earth, and the stillness became more intense. "Right on here a bit now we'll stop," Jed said. "This's th' Anchor Ranch. They're hayin', an' full up. We'll get somethin' to eat, though, an' feed for th' ponies. Then we'll sleep on th' ground. Ever do it?" "Never." "Well, you've got somethin' comin', then. With a sky for a roof a man gets close to whatever he calls his God--an' to himself. Some fellers out here never seem to see th' point. Funny. I been sleepin' out, off an' on, for longer than I like to think about--an' they's a feelin' about it that don't come from nothin' else in th' world." "You think it's a good thing, then, for a man to get close to himself?" "To be sure I do." "What if he's trying to get away from himself?" Jed tugged at his mustache while the horses took a dozen strides. Then he said: