But he had no intention of telling me that affair,—just chuckled to himself softly and remarking, "That must remain a mystery," he lapsed again into silence. And then the train whistled at the last curve, shot into sight, and came thundering and screaming into the depot. "Oh! Apache Kid," said I, "I cannot go to-day. I must wait till to-morrow." "That is a pity," said he, "for then you would have to wait here alone all to-morrow. I go West with to-morrow morning’s ’west-bound.’" "Ah, then," said I, "I will go with this one; for I could not stand the loneliness here with you flying away from me." "No?" he said, half inquiringly; and then he surveyed me, interested, and said again, "No, not so easily as I can stand your departure—I suppose." But he looked away as he spoke. My belongings lay just in the doorway, ready to hand, and these he lifted, boarding the train with me and finding me a seat. This was no sooner done than the conductor outside intoned his "All aboard!" Apache Kid snatched my hand. "Well," said he, "in the language of the country—so-long!" I had no word to say. I took his hand; but he gave me only the fingers of his, and, whirling about, lurched down the aisle of the car, for the train had already started, and the door swung behind him. I tried to raise the window beside me, but it was fast, and by the time I had the next one raised and looked out, all the depot buildings were in the haze of my tears, in the midst of which I saw half a dozen blurred, waving hands, and though I waved into that haze I do not know whether Apache Kid was one of those who stood there or not. So the last I really saw of Apache Kid was his lurching shoulder as he passed out of the swinging car. *CHAPTER XXX* _*And Last*_ It was with a full heart that I sat down, oblivious of all other occupants of the car. I sat dazed, the rattle of the wheels in my ears, and the occasional swishing sound without, when we rattled across some trestle bridge above a foaming creek hastening down out of the hills. Sunset came, glowing red on the tops of the trees on either hand. The Pintsch lamps were lit, and glimmered dim in that glow of the sunset that filled the coaches. It was not yet quite dark when we left Republic Creek, the gate city of the mountains, behind. The sunset suddenly appeared to wheel in the sky, and piled itself up again to the right of the track. We were looping and twining down out of the hills. I went out onto the rear platform for a last look at them. Already the plains were rolling away from us on either side, billowy, wind-swept, sweet-scented in the dusk. Behind was the long darkness, north and south, of the mountains. I gazed upon it till the glow faded, and the sinister, serrated ridge was only a long, thin line of black on the verge of the prairie.