On the saddle were fastened two bundles, one sewed into an old piece of burlap bag, to be forwarded to himself in his hometown, the other crudely wrapped in newspaper containing a few necessities that he was taking with him. He had discarded most of his wardrobe. There was not much that would belong in his new life.

When he reached the settlement town and left the bony, old horse with his new owner, he found an uneasy regret in his heart at parting from him. And when he bought his ticket, he stuffed it into his pocket with a strange distaste. He had a passing wonder why he had consented to sell his place and be shoved out again into the world when he was just getting a foothold here and nobody out in the world wanted him. For just that instant, if the Blue Star Company had offered to sell his place back to him, almost he would have been tempted to accept. Then he turned upon himself savagely and told himself he was childish and walked away down the platform to Jake’s Place, where one could get a good dinner of liver and onions and baked beans with dried-apple pie for fifty cents. But somehow he didn’t feel like eating when he looked in the window. The pie looked tired, and there was a smell of burned fat in the air.

He walked back to the little station again and stood looking off down the track that gleamed red as two streaks of blood in the low rays of the setting sun. And presently out of the dazzle of it, the train appeared, a dark speck, growing larger momentarily and bearing down upon him.

An unanticipated shyness came upon him. A bear he had met, wild cattle in a stampede, a gun pointing into his face, the threatening angry growl of a group that outnumbered him, all without the slightest quiver. But that oncoming train that would carry him back into a world of civilization brought a strange panic upon him. He waited while a bundle of papers and a mail pouch were thrown off and a salesman’s case of samples and a trunk were put on. Then just as the conductor waved his signal to the engineer and the first slow revolution of the wheels began, he gravely stepped forward and swung himself aboard the lowest step, his newspaper bundle under his arm, and quite casually rode out of town into the great world.

Cautiously he opened the door of a Pullman and glanced inside. Here at once was a foreign atmosphere. Men and women of another world. Obviously he did not belong here. Swift as the vision of Adam and Eve after they ate the apple came the knowledge to him that his apparel was not right.

The porter approached him hastily from the other end of the car as if he were a stray dog wandered in, to be hustled out as soon as possible.

“Common cah up the othah end of the train!” he said in an unmistakable tone of authority.

Gregory stiffened and lifted his chin haughtily. Here again was that same spirit of class distinction from which he had run away when he came west. He had not expected to meet it again at the first step of the way. He made a mental resolve that his wealth should never make him feel superior to his fellow mortals.

He looked the porter in the eye for an instant and then turned and stalked in the direction indicated, through another parlor car, a club car and diner, on up through several common cars. He dropped finally into a vacant seat, and settling down close to the window, gave himself to watching the sunset, as much as he could see of it reflected in the clouds ahead of the train. Splendid flocks of pinks and blues and delicate pearly grays, like sheep being herded into the oncoming night.

Now and then the train took a slight turn, and he could look directly into the west where were heaped up masses of velvety purple and midnight blue, rent here and there with heavy gold in ragged splashes.

Back there on his old hillside that mingled glory light would be still shining on the home he had left, touching with splendor his rude shack, laying bright hands on the far pile of stones that marked old Luke’s grave, sailing silverly down the river in the valley.

As long as the display lasted, he gave undivided attention to his window, until night pulled the curtain of twilight definitely down and pinned it with a star.

He sat with his head leaning against the cold window pane, looking into the night. And presently he became aware of voices purposely raised across the aisle, four girls in a double seat. They were discussing his clothes, and Greg’s anger arose again. Couldn’t one wear what one pleased in this world?

Greg hadn’t given much thought to what he should wear. Indeed, he had little choice. Out there in his wilderness home, it seemed to matter very little. He was wearing khaki breeches stuffed into heavy boots and belted with a cartridge belt over a flannel shirt of butternut brown. His short coat of khaki color was lined and furred with sheepskin.