“Then after we’ve finished with him I’ll take the night train for Caldwell and loaf around a few days,” Carver announced. “I haven’t traveled to any extent for some time.” It was nearly morning when the train pulled into Caldwell. “No use to go to bed now,” Carver decided. “I’ll find some of the boys and set up.” The Silver Dollar, now conducted in the rear of a cigar store which had been fashioned across the front of the building since the old, wide-open days had become a thing of the past in Caldwell, was still operated as an all-night place of amusement. But Carver found that its grandeur had vanished, the whole atmosphere of the place was different. There were a dozen men in the place, but of them all Carver saw not one of the riders that had been wont to forgather here. He drew a tarnished silver coin from his pocket. “Here’s where I got you and right here is where I leave you,” he said. “You’ve sewed me up for one year now and I’m about to get shut of you before you cinch me for another. We’ll spend you for a drink to the boys that used to gather here. Back to your namesake, little silver dollar.” As he crossed to the bar he glanced at the swinging side door that led into the adjoining restaurant. It opened and a girl stood there, motioning him to join her. He followed her outside. Two horses stood at a hitch rail down the street. “Come on, Don; we’re going home,” she said. Then, as he seemed not quite to understand, “Didn’t Bart tell you?” “No,” he said. “Whatever it was, Bart didn’t tell me.” “Then I’ll tell you myself on the way home,” she promised. She linked an arm through his and moved toward the two horses at the hitch rail. “Tell me now,” he insisted, halting and swinging her round to face him. “You can’t mean--but I must be reading my signs wrong, some way.” “You’re reading them right,” she corrected. “All those outside things don’t matter. I know that now. We’re going home, Don, just you and me. That’s all that counts.” He had a swift, uneasy vision of the occurrences of the night just past. “But you haven’t heard--,” he commenced. “Oh, yes; I’ve heard,” she interrupted. “The news was telephoned up here and was spread all over Caldwell before you even took the train from Oval Springs. That doesn’t matter either. Hinman phoned to Mattison at the hotel and found that you were coming. That’s how I knew and why I was waiting up. I’ve rented those two horses so we could ride instead of taking a train to Oval Springs. I’d rather, wouldn’t you?” “We’ll start in just one minute, Honey,” he said. “But first--” She looked the length of the street and nodded, for there was no one abroad. Some miles out of Caldwell the girl pulled up her horse where the road crossed the point of a hill. “You remember?” she asked. “I won’t forget,” he said.