If I could only write what he has lived--even what one might imagine that he has lived! But I cannot.
I have tried three times, and have failed.

I think of him as The Last Spirit--a strange wandering ghost of the mighty ranges.

His kind passed away a hundred years ago.

You will understand--when you see him." She put her hand on his arm and let it rest there lightly as they walked.
Into her eyes had returned some of the old warm glow of yesterday.
"I want you to tell me about this adventure," she entreated softly.

"I understand--about the other.