THE BAD MAN



come to love captivated him from the first. It
was as if a siren beckoned, and he had to follow.
  For days he had been worried almost to the
breaking point. Things had not shaped them-
selves as he had planned. Event piled upon event,
and now disaster-definite disaster-threatened to
descend upon him.
  All morning, despite the intense heat, he had
been about the ranch, appraising this and that,
mentally; pottering in the shed; looking at his
horses-the few that were left !-smiling at the
thought of his wheezing Ford, wondering just when
he would clear out altogether.
  Not that young Gilbert Jones was a pessimist.
And yet he wasn't one of those damnable Polly-
anna optimists he so abominated-the kind who
went about saying continually that God was in
His heaven and all was right with the world. No,
indeed! He was just a normal, regular fellow,
ready to face a difficult situation when it came
about as the natural result of a series of events.
He saw the impending catastrophe as the logical
finale of many happenings-for some of which he
was not in any way responsible.
  Who could have foreseen the Great War, for
instance Surely that was not his fault! A pitiful



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