hing left in the bottle?" asked Peter,
wistfully.

Ernest walked to the shelf that held the dishes, and took from a
corner a large black bottle. It seemed light and might be empty. He
turned out the contents into a glass, but there was only a
tablespoonful of whisky left.

"It is almost all gone, Uncle Peter; will you have this much?"

"Yes," answered the old man, tremulously.

Ernest lifted the invalid into a sitting posture, and then put the
glass to his mouth.

He drained it, and gave a sigh of satisfaction.

"It is good," he said briefly.

"I wish there were more."

"It goes to the right spot. It puts strength into me."

"Shall I go to the village and buy more?"

"I--I don't know--"

"I can get back very soon."

"Very well--go then, like a good boy."

"I shall have to trouble you for some money, Uncle Peter."

"Go to the trunk. You will find some."

There was a small hair trunk, in another corner. Ernest knew that this
was meant, and he knelt down before it and lifted the lid.

There was a small wooden box at the left-hand side. Opening this,
Ernest discovered three five-dollar gold pieces. Usually his uncle had
gone to the trunk for money, but the boy knew where it was kept.

"There are but three gold pieces, uncle," he announced, looking
towards the bed.

"Take one of them, Ernest."

"I wonder if that is all the money he has left?" thought Ernest.

He rose from his kneeling position and went to the door.

"I won't be gone long, uncle," he said. He followed a path which led
from the door in an easterly direction to the village. It was over a
mile away, and consisted only of a few scattering houses, a
blacksmith's shop, and a store.

It was to the store that Ernest bent his steps. It was a one-story
structure, as were most of the buildings in the village. There was a
sign over the door which read:

JOE MARKS.
Groceries and Family Supplies.

Joe stood behind the counter; there were two other men in the store,
one tall, gaunt, of the average Western type, with a broad-brimmed,
soft felt hat on his head, and in the costume of a hunter; he looked
rough, but honest and reliable, and that was more than could be said
of the other. He may best be described as a tramp, a man who looked
averse to labor of any kind, a man without a settled business or home,
who picked up a living as he could, caring less for food than for
drink, and whose mottled face indicated frequent potations of whisky.