Oldham began to see that he had made a fearful mistake.
No compunction entered his mind that he had condemned a man to death;
but a cold fear gripped him lest his share should be discovered, and he
should be called upon to face the consequences. Oldham enjoyed and could
play only the game that was safe so far as physical and personal
retribution went.
So deeply did the guilty panic invade his soul that after a time he
arose and dressed. The sleepy porter was just turning out from the
smoking compartment.
"What's this next station?" Oldham demanded.
"Mo-harvey," blinked the porter.
"I get off there," stated Oldham briefly.
The porter stared at him.
"I done thought you went 'way through," he confessed. "I'se scairt I
done forgot you."
"All right," said Oldham curtly, and handing him a tip. "Never mind that
confounded brush; get my suit case."
Ten seconds later he stood on the platform of the little station in the
desert while the tail lights of the train diminished slowly into the
distance.
The desert lay all about him like a calmed sea on which were dim
half-lights of sage brush or alkali flats.
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