Wifely concerns heavy on her mind, she left his side.

Her plane was barely taxiing down the runway before they came to collect him.

It was his daughter who betrayed him. The Goneril to his Lear. Now in her forties, she had been young when he was climbing the ladder to his great perch.

The girl had always been full of hate for her famous parents. This latest rebellion was more an act of revenge against the both of them than anything else.

Her mother was airborne-on her way to Washington. Her father was helpless to stop her. Perfect timing.

"Cowboy boots, denim shirt, jeans," she barked to the coterie of men who trailed her into her father's room. They began to dutifully raid closets and bureaus.

Clothes were tossed onto the quilt.

Through it all, her father sat there, oblivious. Perhaps a puzzled eyebrow arched as the men worked quickly. At one time the most famous face in the world, reduced now to a confused knot of sadly familiar wrinkles.

He did nothing to stop them as the strangers began to strip him of his nightclothes.

FORTY MINUTES LATER, they were on the range. Distant mountains undulated in blue-violet waves from the ruler-flat plain. Above, wisps of clouds reflected shades of orange and red from the fire of the setting sun.

The Jeep they were in stopped beside an empty horse trailer. Father and daughter got out.

Photographers were waiting. Two wranglers stood next to the trailer, one holding the reins of a big yellow palomino. The animal snorted nervously at the crowd.

The crush of people encircled them immediately. Her father was typically disoriented.