ed at a door.
There was no response. He knocked again.

"What you want?" came in a muffled voice.

"It's John," said Corliss. "Let me in."

The door opened, and Corliss stepped into the room to confront a dismal
scene. On the washstand stood several empty whiskey bottles and murky
glasses. The bedding was half on the floor, and standing with hand
braced against the wall was Will Corliss, ragged, unshaven, and visibly
trembling. His eyelids were red and swollen. His face was white save
for the spots that burned on his emaciated cheeks.

"John!" he exclaimed, and extended his hand.

Corliss shook hands with him and then motioned him to a chair. "Well,
Will, if you're sick, this isn't the way to get over it."

"Brother's keeper, eh? Glad to see me back, eh, Jack?"

"Not in this shape. What do you suppose Nell would think?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm sick. That's all."

"Where have you been--for the last three years?"

"A whole lot you care. Been? I have been everywhere from heaven to
hell--the whole route. I'm in hell just now."

"You look it. Will, what can I do for you? You want to quit the booze
and straighten up. You're killing yourself."

"Maybe I don't know it! Say, Jack, I want some dough. I'm broke."

"All right. How much?"

"A couple of hundred--for a starter."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What do you suppose? Not going to eat it."

"No. And you're not going to drink it, either. I'll see that you have
everything you need. You're of age and can do as you like. But you're
not going to kill yourself with whiskey."

Will Corliss stared at his brother; then laughed.

"Have one with me, Jack. You didn't used to be afraid of it."

"I'm not now, but I'm not going to take a drink with you."

"Sorry. Well, here's looking." And the brother poured himself a
half-tumblerful of whiskey and gulped it down. "Now, let's talk
business."

Corliss smiled despite his disgust. "All right. You talk and I'll
listen."

The brother slouched to the bed and sat down. "How's the Concho been
making it?" he asked.

"We've been doing pretty fair. I've been busy."

"How's old man Loring?"

"About the same."

"Nell gone into mourning?"

Corliss frowned and straightened his shoulders.

"See here, Will, you said you'd talk business. I'm waiting."

"Touched you that time, eh? Well, you can have Nell and be damned. No
Mexican blood for mine."

"If you were