there were two other men in the store, one
tall, gaunt, of the average Western type, with a broad-brimmed soft felt
hat on his head and the costume of a hunter; he looked rough, but honest
and reliable, that was more than could be said of the other. He may best
be described as a tramp, a man who looked averse to labor of any kind, a
man without a settled business or home, who cared less for food than
drink, and whose mottled face indicated frequent potations of whisky.

Ernest looked at this man as he entered. He didn't remember to have met
him before, nor was there anything to attract him in his appearance.

"How are you, Ernest?" said Joe Marks cordially. "How's Uncle Peter?"

"He's pretty bad, Joe. He thinks he's going to die."

"Not so bad as that, surely?"

"Yes, I guess he's right. He's very weak."

"Well, he's a good age. How old is he?"

"I don't know. He never told me."

"He's well on to seventy, I'm thinking. But what can I do for you?"

"You may fill this bottle; Uncle Peter is weak, he thinks it will put new
life in him."

"So it will, Ernest; there's nothing like good whisky to make an old man
strong, or a young man, for that matter."

It is easy to see that Joe did not believe in total abstinence.

"I don't drink myself!" said Ernest, replying to the last part of Joe's
remark.

"There's nothing like whisky," remarked the tramp in a hoarse voice.

"You've drunk your share, I'm thinking," said Luke Robbins, the tall
hunter.

"Not yet," returned the tramp. "I haven't had my share yet. There's lots
of people that has drunk more'n me."

"Why haven't you drunk your share? You hadn't no objections, I reckon?"

"I hadn't the money," said the tramp sadly. "I've never had much money. I
ain't lucky."

"If you had more money, you might not be living now. You'd have drunk
yourself to death."

"If I ever do commit suicide, that's the way I'd like to die," said the
tramp.

Joe filled the bottle from a keg behind the counter and handed it to
Ernest. The aroma of the whisky was diffused about the store, and the
tramp sniffed it eagerly. It stimulated his desire to indulge his craving
for drink. As Ernest, with the bottle in his hand, prepared to leave, the
tramp addressed him.

"Say, young feller, ain't you goin' to shout?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ain't you goin' to treat me and this gentleman?" indicating Luke
Robbins.

"No," answered Ernest shortly. "I don't buy it as drink, but as
medicin