"Daughters of Pleasure, one and all, Of form and feature delicate, Of bodies slim and bosoms small, With feet and fingers white and straight, Your eyes are bright, your grace is great, To hold your lover's heart in thrall; Use your red lips before too late, Love ere love flies beyond recall." He didn't know where he had learned that. Nor did he know that it was the lay of another vagabond, a dreamer light-hearted in adversity. But it was good--some folks might question its morality--but it was good--good philosophy. Swift and sudden, that was the better way. And sad, too, a little. He sang it again and again. But the sun rose higher and the sand grew hot. And the gorgeous sky was gorgeous no longer, but a glimmer of savage heat. Little by little Girl o' Mine's head drooped. Dust settled white upon her, and she became streaked with sweat. And little by little the song was stilled. He remembered then, abruptly. He was disconsolate. He had no call to sing. He had been a dreamer, too--but that was ages and ages ago, and long, long gone for him. He was only the vagabond. He'd been nearly broke? Well, he was all broke now. And better that way! Half way was no good. It was better to be an out-and-out than a neither-one-nor-the-other. He had had some large plans, until the professor had started the run against him. He'd had a Vision, a vision of prosperity and himself a settled man. And maybe some day--some day, when he'd proved himself--when he'd found Her-- He wouldn't even tell himself how disappointed he was. Noon came and they tarried a while. There was no hurry; they weren't going anywhere,--not anywhere in particular. Presently they started on again. And through the glare of afternoon they passed along the horizon, a despondent scarecrow upon a dejected horse. CHAPTER II RIDE HIM, COWBOY! So to the tanks; but here at least was a little luck. The tub was full and over-flowing; he would not have to cause the agent to swear by swinging round the nozzle and wasting of his water. And something besides sagebrush and sand to look at, too. For upon the tracks stood a train; a train packed very full with men whose faces showed white at the windows,--indoor men, Eastern men,--and a private car at the end of the string. All men! Well, that would be the special train, come through from the other coast; the prize-fight special,--and the last section, at that. There was no man up the tracks with a red flag to guard against a pile-up. And they also looked bored; they must have been standing there quite a while. And hot. So, you see, his plight was not so bad! He didn't have to breathe that air and sit in a slippery red-plush seat. Not much!