“It’s over, I guess,” he muttered. “Maybe life ain’t wi’out gold for some. I ’lows I ain’t jest struck color right. Wal, I’m ready for the reckonin’.”
His hands unclasped and his legs straightened themselves out. Like a weary man seeking repose he turned over and lay with his face buried in the snow. Nor did he move again. For Arizona had ended his journey over the One-Way Trail.
Transcriber’s Note:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and intent.