uld not win him from the pink pages of a
sporting journal. "Get something for nothing," was his mission in
life; "Thirty-seventh" Street was his goal.

Nearly two months after his arrival he began to complain that he felt
worse. It was then that he became the ranch's incubus, its harpy, its
Old Man of the Sea. He shut himself in his room like some venomous
kobold or flibbertigibbet, whining, complaining, cursing, accusing.
The keynote of his plaint was that he had been inveigled into a
gehenna against his will; that he was dying of neglect and lack of
comforts. With all his dire protestations of increasing illness, to
the eye of others he remained unchanged. His currant-like eyes were as
bright and diabolic as ever; his voice was as rasping; his callous
face, with the skin drawn tense as a drum-head, had no flesh to lose.
A flush on his prominent cheek bones each afternoon hinted that a
clinical thermometer might have revealed a symptom, and percussion
might have established the fact that McGuire was breathing with only
one lung, but his appearance remained the same.

In constant attendance upon him was Ylario, whom the coming reward of
the /mayordomo/ship must have greatly stimulated, for McGuire chained
him to a bitter existence. The air--the man's only chance for life--he
commanded to be kept out by closed windows and drawn curtains. The
room was always blue and foul with cigarette smoke; whosoever entered
it must sit, suffocating, and listen to the imp's interminable
gasconade concerning his scandalous career.

The oddest thing of all was the relation existing between McGuire and
his benefactor. The attitude of the invalid toward the cattleman was
something like that of a peevish, perverse child toward an indulgent
parent. When Raidler would leave the ranch McGuire would fall into a
fit of malevolent, silent sullenness. When he returned, he would be
met by a string of violent and stinging reproaches. Raidler's attitude
toward his charge was quite inexplicable in its way. The cattleman
seemed actually to assume and feel the character assigned to him by
McGuire's intemperate accusations--the character of tyrant and guilty
oppressor. He seemed to have adopted the responsibility of the
fellow's condition, and he always met his tirades with a pacific,
patient, and even remorseful kindness that never altered.

One day Raidler said to him, "Try more air, son. You can have the
buckboard and a driver every day if you'll