u. And if you want to know why--I'm married!"

She leaned back against the door and stared up at him with widening
pupils. Ford looked down and struck the jug with his toe. "That thing,"
he said slowly, "I've got to fight alone. I don't know which is going to
come out winner, me or the booze. I--don't--know." He lifted his head
and looked at her. "What did you come in here for?" he asked bluntly.

She caught her breath, but she would not dodge. Ford loved her for that.
"Dick told me--and I was--I wanted to--well, help. I thought I
might--sometimes when the climb is too steep, a hand will keep one
from--slipping."

"What made you want to help? You don't even like me." His tone was flat
and unemotional, but she did not seem able to meet his eyes. So she
looked down at the jug.

"Dick said--but the jug is full practically. I don't understand how--"

"It isn't as full as it ought to be; it lacks one swallow." He eyed it
queerly. "I wish I knew how much it would lack by dark," he said.

She threw out an impulsive hand. "Oh, but you must make up your mind!
You mustn't temporize like that, or wonder--or--"

"This," he interrupted rather flippantly, "is something little girls
can't understand. They'd better not try. This isn't a woman's problem,
to be solved by argument. It's a man's fight!"

"But if you would just make up your mind, you could win."

"Could I?" His tone was amusedly skeptical, but his eyes were still
somber.

"Even a woman," she said impatiently, "knows that is not the way to win
a fight--to send for the enemy and give him all your weapons, and a plan
of the fortifications, and the password; when you know there's no mercy
to be hoped for!"

He smiled at her simile, and at her earnestness also, perhaps; but that
black gloom remained, looking out of his eyes.

"What made you send for it? A whole gallon!"

"I didn't send for it. That jug belongs to Mose," he told her simply.
"Dick told me Mose had it; rather, Dick went into the kitchen and got
it, and turned it over to me." In spite of the words, he did not give
one the impression that he was defending himself; he was merely offering
an explanation because she seemed to demand one.

"Dick got it and turned it over to you!" Her forehead wrinkled again
into vertical lines. She studied him frowningly. "Will you give it to
me?" she asked directly.

Ford folded his arms and scowled down at the jug. "No," he refused at
last, "I won't. If booze is going