cribed
maze, dawdled too long in the little man's palace of illusions. One
thing he knew: he would not dare mount a table and try another such
drawing before them all. He had done this one as unthinkingly as he
would have saddled a horse or sighted a rifle, indifferent to observers.
It rushed upon him sickeningly that all his association with Teevan had
tended to destroy his belief in himself. The coffee found him
afraid--ragingly afraid.

The voices from the group outside came to him murmurously, and at
intervals he would listen to the careless, bantering talk. One voice
related that its wielder had smoked opium in Cairo. He heard cries of
mock horror, and the drawl of Chalmers--"Cairo--that's where the
'streets' come from." Griggs was presently extolling some ancient and
wonderful sherry. "Great stuff! You take a sip and you don't swallow
it--it just floats off through your being like a golden mist. He only
has about a dozen bottles--out of a lot that was put down for Napoleon
or somebody in 1830." Baldwin's voice floated in: "All right, old man,
but they had to put it down a long way to reach Napoleon in 1830."

There was a laugh at this, and it came to the lone listener as the
care-free echo of a world he had tried for and lost. Lost thus far--but
there was farther to go, other days to live, other wise men to counsel
with. He could have believed it heartily, if it were not for that
thought of Mrs. Laithe, the thought that was always like a beast
devouring his heart. Meantime, if he could only have a breathing spell,
some days of quiet. He wished his own hills were not so far away. He
was sure that a little time back in the cabin studio would give him his
old bearings.

His thought ran to Mrs. Laithe's brother, who had come to town the week
before, bronzed and bearded and violent with enthusiasm for his Western
life. He decided that a talk with Bartell would be tonic to his mood;
the bare mention of familiar names and places would hearten him--of the
Wimmenuche and Bar-7, Old Baldy and Dry Fork. And perhaps he had seen
Ben lately; the two might even have driven down to Pagosa together.

And it would be an excuse for seeing her. For two months he had sought
her only thus, with something he could hold in his mind as an excuse,
for he was abashed by that nameless thing that troubled her, and
troubled, as well, the little man who had meant so much to him--for
Teevan, when the brandy was low, continued to speak of wom