horse will bring you."

Bull passed his hand over his mouth with a show of resolution. It
indicated that he was pulling himself together. Within half an hour he
was on his way to the Gap.

For de Spain hours never dragged as did the hours between his starting
and the setting of the sun that night without his return. And the sun
set behind Music Mountain in a drift of heavy clouds that brought
rain. All evening it fell steadily. At eleven o'clock de Spain had
given up hope of seeing his emissary before morning and was sitting
alone before the stove in the office when he heard the sound of hoofs.
In another moment Bull Page stood at the door.

He was a sorry sight. Soaked to the skin by the steady downpour; rain
dripping intermittently from his frayed hat, his ragged beard, and
tattered coat; shaking with the cold as if gripped by an ague, Bull,
picking his staggering steps to the fire, and sinking in a heap into a
chair, symbolized the uttermost tribute of manhood to the ravages of
whiskey. He was not drunk. He had not even been drinking; but his
vitality was gone. He tried to speak. It was impossible. His tongue
would not frame words, nor his throat utter them. He could only look
helplessly at de Spain as de Spain hastily made him stand up on his
shaking knees, threw a big blanket around him, sat him down, kicked
open the stove drafts, and called to McAlpin for more whiskey to
steady the wreck of it crouching over the fire.

McAlpin after considerable and reluctant search produced a bottle, and
unwilling, for more reasons than one, to trust it to Bull's uncertain
possession, brought a dipper. Bull held the dipper while de Spain
poured. McAlpin, behind the stove, hopped first on one foot and then
on the other as de Spain recklessly continued to pour. When the liquor
half filled the cup, McAlpin put out unmistakable distress signals,
but Bull, watching the brown stream, his eyes galvanized at the sight,
held fast to the handle and made no sign to stop. "Bull!" thundered
the barn boss with an emphatic word. "That is Elpaso's bottle. What
are you dreaming of, man? Mr. de Spain, you'll kill him. Don't ye see
he can't tell ye to stop?"

Bull, with the last flickering spark of vitality still left within
him, looked steadily up and winked at de Spain. McAlpin, outraged,
stamped out of the room. Steadying the dipper in both hands, Bull with
an effort passed one hand at the final moment preliminarily over his
mouth, and, ra