He had made ready to go forward
again, but had paused irresolute again, hesitating for the last time.
"I'm a fool," he growled, scowling back at the range behind him. "I'm
a fool. What's the matter with me? I'm just walking right away from a
million dollars. I know it's there. No, by God!" he exclaimed, savagely,
"I ain't going to do it. I'm going back. I can't leave a mine like
that." He had wheeled the mule about, and had started to return on
his tracks, grinding his teeth fiercely, inclining his head forward as
though butting against a wind that would beat him back. "Go on, go on,"
he cried, sometimes addressing the mule, sometimes himself. "Go on, go
back, go back. I WILL go back." It was as though he were climbing a
hill that grew steeper with every stride. The strange impelling instinct
fought his advance yard by yard. By degrees the dentist's steps grew
slower; he stopped, went forward again cautiously, almost feeling his
way, like someone approaching a pit in the darkness. He stopped again,
hesitating, gnashing his teeth, clinching his fists with blind fury.
Suddenly he turned the mule about, and once more set his face to the
eastward.
"I can't," he cried aloud to the desert; "I can't, I can't.
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