Ford did not go "by-low." Instead, he rolled over and lay with his face
upon his folded arms, alive to the finger-tips; alive and fighting. For
there are times when the soul of a man awakes and demands a reckoning,
and reviews pitilessly the past and faces the future with the veil of
illusion torn quite away--and does it whether the man will or no.
CHAPTER VIII
"I Wish You'd Quit Believing in Me!"
A distant screaming roused Ford from his bitter mood of introspection.
He raised his head and listened, his heavy-lidded eyes staring blankly
at the wall opposite, before he sprang off the bunk, pulled on his
boots, and rushed from the room. Outside, he hesitated long enough to
discover which direction he must take to reach the woman who was
screaming inarticulately, her voice vibrant with sheer terror. The sound
came from the little, brown cottage that seemed trying modestly to hide
behind a dispirited row of young cottonwoods across a deep, narrow
gully, and he ran headlong toward it. He crossed the plank footbridge in
a couple of long leaps, vaulted over the gate which barred his way, and
so reached the house just as a woman whom he knew must be Mason's
"Kate," jerked open the door and screamed "Chester!" almost in his
face.
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