The silvery face of the moon grew fainter with the coming of a ruddier light; the shadows of the mountains were being etched definitely on the plateaus that stretched out like vast floors under the developing glow of sunrise; and the full splendor of day had come, with its majestic spread of vision.

“When Joe sees that he will feel so strong he will want to get out and carry the Pullman,” Jack thought.  “But Mamie will not let him for fear that he will overdo!”

How slow the train seemed to travel!  It was a snail compared to Jack’s eagerness to arrive.  He was inclined to think that P.D., Wrath of God, and Jag Ear were faster than through expresses.  He kept inquiring of the conductor if they were on time, and the conductor kept repeating that they were.  How near that flash of steel at a bend around a tongue of chaotic rock, stretching out into the desert sea, with its command to man to tunnel or accept a winding path for his iron horse!  How long in coming to it in that rare air, with its deceit of distances!  Landmark after landmark of peak or bold ridge took the angle of some recollected view of his five years’ wanderings.  It was already noon when he saw Galeria from the far end of the long basin that he had crossed, with the V as the compass of his bearings, on the ride that brought him to the top to meet Mary and Pete Leddy.

Then the V was lost while the train wound around the range that formed one side of the basin’s rim.  The blaze of midday had passed before it entered the reaches of the best valley yet in the judgment of a connoisseur in valleys; and under the Eternal Painter’s canopy a spot of green quivered in the heat-rays of the horizon.  His Majesty was in a dreamy mood.  He was playing in delicate variations, tranquil and enchanting, of effects in gold and silver, now gossamery thin, now thick and rich.

“What is this thing crawling along on two silken threads and so afraid of the hills?” he was asking, sleepily.  “Eh?  No!  Bring the easel to me, if you want a painting.  I am not going to rise from my easy couch.  There!  Fix that cushion so!  I am a leisurely, lordly aristocrat.  Palette?  No, I will just shake my soft beard of fine mist back and forth across the sky, a spectrum for the sunrays.  So! so!  I see that this worm is a railroad train.  Let it curl up in the shadow of a gorge and take a nap.  I will wake it up by and by when I seize my brush and start a riot in the heavens that will make its rows of window-glass eyes stare.”

“I am on this train and in a hurry!” Jack objected.

“Do I hear the faint echo of a human ego down there on the earth?” demanded the Eternal Painter.  “Who are you?  One of the art critics?”

“One of Your Majesty’s loving subjects, who has been away in a foreign kingdom and returns to your allegiance,” Jack answered.

“So be it.  I shall know if what you say is true when I gaze into your eyes at sunset.”