Two weeks later he moved his outfit south again. And at their old camp on the San Pedro, Wilkins walked in on them. His advent was not unexpected, but Lafe found it impossible to give him more than frigid civility. The man had been recreant to his trust and he was going to get out of it through the intercession of women; that was enough to damn him in the eyes of Lafe and his kind. "Howdy," said Wilkins unconcernedly. "I'm going back." "So I done heard." "I got the letter here," Wilkins continued, fumbling in his shirt bosom. "He says if I go back, they'll let me off easy on account of previous good conduct." "Huh-huh. Sure," said the boss grimly, "I'll let you have a horse and you can ride with us in the morning. We start at four o'clock, remember." A sergeant of cavalry and two troopers sat their horses beside the big corrals where the custom men inspect the cattle, when the cavalcade arrived. They led a spare mount. At sight of them, Wilkins left the party and loped ahead. The soldiers waited for him on the other side. He went unhesitatingly through the gate--jubilant, alert and smiling, like a girl going to her first dance. The sergeant advanced and Wilkins extended his hand. The soldier ignored it. "Here's your horse, Johnson," said Wilkins. "You've been mighty decent. Muchas gracias. All right, Osborne. I'm ready." "Hold on," Lafe cut in; "say, wait a minute. What's the matter, anyhow? What's it all about? I want to get the rights of this." "A deserter, Mr. Johnson," said the sergeant. "He used to be in Troop F. Ran off, he did. Some post exchange funds went, too." "That's a lie," Wilkins shouted; "I never touched a cent. And you know it better'n anybody else, Osborne." "We've been chasing him a year, Mr. Johnson." Wilkins was watching Lafe much as a dog would watch his master to see whether he was angry. "I'd like to talk to you a minute, if you're agreeable, Mr. Johnson." The sergeant nodded acquiescence, and he led Lafe aside. "It's a wonder you'll speak to me after that. Osborne, there--he wouldn't shake hands." "I'm not a soldier," the boss said guardedly. "And I'm not a thief. You believe that, don't you? It was the rotten sameness of the life. Oh, you know how it is--and Mary Lou waiting--well, I hated the post, and it wasn't long before I grew to hate the boys. What'd you say? Sure, they're all right. But when you're cooped up with the same crowd day in and day out, the best men on earth will soon hate one another. You ain't never done it, so you don't know. Nothing to see but those ol' mountains, solemn as death all the time." He broke off, striving to compose himself. "See that high one yonder? I swear I've seen it nodding at me. Yes, sir, just like this. And Mary Lou and her father--oh, I got afraid of those hills--honest to God, I did. And the boys--why even your cowboys look down on us. And Mary Lou--so I beat it and swore I'd never come back." "But you did."