"Look at that little house. The Three Bar was started with that! We have as much as our folks started with--and more. They even had to build that. We'll start where our folks did and grow." XVI Harris sat on a baggage truck and regarded the heap of luggage somberly. Way off in the distance a dark blot of smoke marked the location of the onrushing train which would take the Three Bar girl away. "Some day you'll be wanting to come back, old partner," he predicted hopefully. Billie shook her head. There is a certain relief which floods the heart when the worst has passed. Looking forward and anticipating the possible ruin of the Three Bar, she had thought such a contingency would end her interest in life and she had resolutely refused to look beyond it into the future. Now that it was wrecked in reality she found that she looked forward with a faint interest to what the future held in store for her,--that it was the past in which her interest was dead. "Not dead, girl; only dormant," Harris said, when she remarked upon this fact. "Like a seed in frozen ground. In the spring it will come to life and sprout. The Three Bar isn't hurt. We're in better shape than ever before and a clear field out in front; for the country is cleaned up and the law is clamped on top." She honestly tried to rouse a spark of interest deep within her, some ray of enthusiasm for the future of the Three Bar. But there was no response. She assured herself again that the old brand which had meant so much to her meant less than nothing now. That part of her was dead. The trail of smoke was drawing near and there was a rhythmic clicking along the rails. Harris leaned and kissed her. "Just once for luck," he said, and slipped from his seat on the truck as the train roared in. It halted with a screech of brakes and he handed her up the steps. "Good-by, little fellow," he said. "I'll see you next round-up time." As the train slid away from the station she looked from her window and saw him riding up the single street on the big paint-horse. The train cleared the edge of the little town and passed the cattle chute. A long white line through the sage marked the course of the Coldriver Trail. Three wagons, each drawn by four big mules, moved toward the cluster of buildings which comprised the town, the freighters on their way to haul out materials for the rebuilding of the ranch. The work was going on but she no longer had a share in it. She was looking ahead and planning a future in which the Three Bar played no part.