The woman nodded. I essayed to 

 wait for her, a grip on my sleeve 

 showed that she still needed the 

 human touch of sympathy. To- 

 gether we followed to the workshop 

 where loudly a hammer proclaimed 

 a wooden case being put together, and 

 somewhat apart, on a rough bier, 

 under a sheet, lay the figure of ' ' him ' ' 

 who had not "made good, " as Silver- 

 ton would put it. In a little house 

 ten miles away a girl was cursing 

 him, and the neighbours were help- 

 ing. Here in the crude noisy shop 

 was his one mourner the other 

 woman. 



Dry-eyed she looked at him, bullet 

 mark and all, looked long and looked 

 again, then the vision held before her 

 she sought the street and turned 

 toward the market place and the 

 "old Man." 



She dropped me as one drops a 

 shoe, she neither knew nor cared; 

 and I scuttled back to Nimrod and 

 pleasant things. 



We slept that night on a straw- 

 stack in the Ordinary Man's ranch, 

 a few miles out of Goldville. Of 

 course, being an Ordinary Man he 



