Love of life swept in an irresistible surge through his body, and he breathed in deeply of the soft sea air that came in through his open port from the west.

In Stampede Smith he had at last found the comradeship which he had missed, and the responsive note to the wild and half-savage desires always smoldering in his heart.

He looked out at the stars and smiled up at them, and his soul was filled with an unspoken thankfulness that he was not born too late.

Another generation and there would be no last frontier.

Twenty-five years more and the world would lie utterly in the shackles of science and invention and what the human race called progress.
So God had been good to him.