The work of the rodeo was over; his cowboy associates, with their suggestive talk, were far away.

Under the influence of the long, dark miles of that night, and the silent presence of his companion, the young man, for the time being, was no longer the responsible foreman of the Cross-Triangle Ranch.

In all that vast and silent world there was, for Phil Acton, only himself, his trouble, and his friend.
And so it came about that, little by little, the young man told Patches the story of his dream, and of how it was now shattered and broken.
Sometimes bitterly, as though he felt injustice; sometimes harshly, as though in contempt for some weakness of his own; with sentences broken by the pain he strove to subdue, with halting words and long silences, Phil told of his plans for rebuilding the home of his boyhood, and of restoring the business that, through the generosity of his father, had been lost; of how, since his childhood almost, he had worked and saved to that end; and of his love for Kitty, which had been the very light of his dream, and without which for him there was no purpose in dreaming.
And the man who rode so close beside him listened with a fuller understanding and a deeper sympathy than Phil knew.
"And now," said Phil hopelessly, "it's all over.

I've sure come to the end of my string.

Reid has put the outfit on the market.