Bill gave one sweeping glance around.  Then he turned, and the two made their way back to the edge of the sucking mire.

“Yes, it’ll do, dear.  Now let us hasten home.”

They remounted their horses and were soon lost in the gathering darkness as they made their way over the brow of the rising ground, in the direction of the settlement.

The next day saw the possession of the Hon. Bunning-Ford’s ranch pass into other hands.  Punctually at noon, the sale began.  And by four o’clock the process, which robbed the rancher of everything that he possessed in the world, was completed.

Bill stationed himself on the veranda and smoked incessantly while the sale proceeded.  He was there to see how the things went, and, in fact, seemed to take an outsider’s interest only.  He experienced no morbid sentiment at the loss of his property—­it is doubtful if he cared at all.  Anyhow, his leisurely attitude and his appearance of good-natured indifference caused many surprised remarks amongst the motley collection of bidders who were present.  In spite of these appearances, however, he did take a very keen interest.  A representative of Lablache’s was there to purchase stock, and Bill knew it, and his interest was centered on this would-be purchaser.

The stock was the last thing to come under the hammer.  There were twenty lots.  Of these Lablache’s representative purchased fifteen—­three-quarters of the stock of the entire ranch.

Bill waited only for this, then, as the sale closed, he leisurely rolled and lit another cigarette and strolled to where a horse, which he had borrowed from the Allandales stable, was tied, and rode slowly away.

As he rode away he turned his head in the direction of the house upon the hill.  He was leaving for good and all the place which had so long claimed him as master.  He saw the small gathering of people still hanging about the veranda, upon which the auctioneer still stood with his clerk, busy over the sales.  He noticed others passing hither and thither, as they prepared to depart with their purchases.  But none of these things which he looked upon affected him in any mawkish, sentimental manner.  It was all over.  That little hill, with its wooded background and vast frontage of prairie, from which he had loved to watch the sun get up after its nightly sojourn, would know him no more.  His indifference was unassumed.  His was not the nature to regret past follies.

He smiled softly as he turned his attention to the future which lay before him, and his smile was not in keeping with the expression of a broken man.