The bright, early morning sunlight made his hot eyeballs water, and he blinked uncomfortably. His knees shook from weakness so that he leaned against the fence beside his tent. Such absolute misery possessed him that he could not think. His brain was numb. His mouth felt as if all the moisture had been baked out of it. Mr. Cameron looked him over carefully and contemptuously, then fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and produced a cigar. Eyeing Loring all the while, he slowly bit off the end, and lighted the cigar. Before he spoke, he took several deliberate puffs. It was a good cigar; but the rich smell of the fumes made Loring turn a shade whiter. “Well, Loring, I suppose you know what this means for you?” began Mr. Cameron slowly. “A rather nice piece of work of yours, on the whole. Two men killed by your efficiency! I do not suppose that there is any use in asking you if you were drunk?” There was very little of the question in Mr. Cameron’s voice. Stephen gripped the fence hard, then shook his head. “I do not like to dismiss you, Loring, for I am in your debt for saving my daughter’s life.” Judging from his expression as he said this, the thought of the debt did not greatly please Mr. Cameron. Stephen looked out over the mountains. His eyes were glistening with moisture—and this time it was not caused by the glare. It cut him to the quick that the man who was so righteously dismissing him should be the father of the girl whom he loved. In a bitter moment there flashed before his mind the vision of all his broken resolutions, of his now useless plans for success. The whole fabric, which in the past months he had woven for himself, he suddenly saw torn to shreds. Mr. Cameron’s next words were lost to Stephen. It was some seconds before he could again focus his attention. When he caught up the thread, Mr. Cameron was saying: “I had hoped better things from you, Loring. I should have known better, that when a man is a drifter, such as you are, there is no hope. Still I had hoped! Well, I was wrong. Here is your pay check, for what is due to you. That is all.” Mr. Cameron turned and walked towards the office. Stephen stood looking dumbly after him, with the check fluttering loosely in his fingers. McKay, going by on his way to work, saw him, and came up to him. He held out his hand in sympathy. “Damn it, Steve, I’m sorry for you! You ain’t worth a damn; but I like you.” Stephen looked at him in silence. His only conscious thought, as he gripped McKay’s hand, was the mental reiteration: “I am worth a damn, I am worth a damn.” McKay went on in friendly solicitude: “Of course, it ain’t none of my business, Steve, but if I was you I’d beat it pretty quick. Just at present the friends of those men ain’t losing any love on you. I think if I was in your boots the Dominion trail would look pretty good to me. It’s about up to you to _vamos_.”