And at
such quiet hours as this, in the midst of the turmoil he had sought
for weeks, a sadness filled his soul, and an eternal remorse. The
love that had changed him and the life that had failed him seemed
utterly misrelated.
To and fro he paced on the bare ridge while twilight shadowed. A
star twinkled in the west, a night wind began to seep the sand. The
desert, vast, hidden, mysterious, yet so free and untrammeled,
darkened.
Lights began to flash up along the streets of Benton, and presently
Neale became aware of a low and mounting hum, like a first stir of
angry bees.
The loud and challenging strains of a band drew Neale toward the
center of the main street, where men were pouring into a big tent.
He halted outside and watched. This strident, businesslike, quick-
step music and the sight of the men and women attracted thereby made
Neale realize that Benton had arisen in a day and would die out in a
night; its life would be swift, vile, and deadly.
When the band ceased a sudden roar came from inside the big tent, a
commingling of the rough voices of men and the humming of wheels,
the clinking of glasses and gold, the rattling of dice, the hoarse
call of a dealer, the shuffling of feet--a roar pierced now and then
by the shrill, vacant, soundless laugh of a woman.
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