The stars were too bright, the wind too full of words, the sweep of the sky too strong.

I shifted the saddle under my head, and turned and turned, but I could not rest.

I looked up again into the eye of my cold, reproving star.
But now, to my surprise and horror, when I looked into the eye of my monitor, my own eye would not waver nor admit subjection! I rebelled at my own conscience.

I, John Cowles, had all my life been a strong man.

I had wrestled with any who came, fought with any who asked it, matched with any man on any terms he named.