to tell his story. He remained sullen and silent, with his
brooding eyes fixed on the blank wall before him, and nothing could
permanently cheer him. Some inward gloom seemed to possess the man.

The first day after the shooting he had insisted on scrawling a
painfully written letter, while Ronicky propped a writing board in
front of him, as he lay flat on his back in the bed, but that was his
only act. Thereafter he remained silent and brooding. Perhaps it
was hatred for Ronicky that was growing in him, as the sense of
disappointment increased, for Ronicky, after all, had kept him from
reaching that girl when the train passed through Stillwater. Perhaps,
for all Ronicky knew, his bullet had ruined the happiness of two
lives. He shrugged that disagreeable thought away, and, reaching the
hotel, he went straight up to the room of the sick man.

"Bill," he said gently, "have you been spending all your time hating
me? Is that what keeps you thin and glum? Is it because you sit here
all day blaming me for all the things that have happened to you?"

The dark flush and the uneasy flicker of Gregg's glance gave a
sufficient answer. Ronicky Doone sighed and shook his head, but not in
anger.

"You don't have to talk," he said. "I see that I'm right. And I don't
blame you, Bill, because, maybe, I've spoiled things pretty generally
for you."

At first the silence of Bill Gregg admitted that he felt the same way
about the matter, yet he finally said aloud: "I don't blame you. Maybe
you thought I was a hoss thief. But the thing is done, Ronicky, and it
won't never be undone!"

"Gregg," said Ronicky, "d'you know what you're going to do now?"

"I dunno."

"You're going to sit there and roll a cigarette and tell me the whole
yarn. You ain't through with this little chase. Not if I have to drag
you along with me. But first just figure that I'm your older brother
or something like that and get rid of the whole yarn. Got to have the
ore specimens before you can assay 'em. Besides, it'll help you a pile
to get the poison out of your system. If you feel like cussing me
hearty when the time comes go ahead and cuss, but I got to hear that
story."

"Maybe it would help," said Gregg, "but it's a fool story to tell."

"Leave that to me to say whether it's a fool story or not. You start
the talking."

Gregg shifted himself to a more comfortable position, as is the
immemorial custom of story tellers, and his glance misted a little
w