upstairs,
drank again, and hid them craftily, not beneath the mattress this time,
but under the eaves where the flooring met and there was a loose plank.

When he stumbled downstairs again, the Kid was sitting in a chair,
holding his swimming head in his hands.

"S'all right, Charlie," said McGrew inanely.

The Kid did not look at him; his eyes were fixed upon the table.

"Where are those bottles?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Gone," said McGrew plaintively. "Gone witsh fellows--fellows took 'em
an' ran 'way. Whash goin' to do 'bout it, Charlie?"

"I'll tell you when you're sober," said the Kid curtly. "Get up to
your bunk and sleep it off."

"S'my trick," said McGrew heavily, waving his hand toward the key.
"Can't let nusher fellow do my work."

"Your trick!" The words came in a withering, bitter rush from the Kid.
"Your trick! You're in fine shape to hold down a key, aren't you!"

"Whash reason I ain't? Held it down all right, so far," said McGrew, a
world of injury in his voice--and it was true; so far he had held it
down all right that night, for the very simple reason that Angel Forks
had not been the elected meeting point of trains for a matter of some
three hours, not since the time when Harvey and Lansing had dropped in
and McGrew had been sober.

"Get up to your bunk!" said the Kid between his teeth--and that was all.

McGrew swayed hesitantly for a moment on uncertain legs, blinked
soddenly a sort of helpless protest, and, turning, staggered up the
stairs.

For a little while the Kid sat in his chair, trying to conquer his
dizzy, swimming head; and then the warm blood trickling down his
neck--he had not noticed it before--roused him to action. He took the
lamp and went into the other room, bathed his head in the wash-basin,
sopping at the back of his neck to stop the flow, and finally bandaged
it as best he could with a wet cloth as a compress, and a towel drawn
tightly over it, which he knotted on his forehead.

He finished McGrew's abortive attempt at housecleaning after that, and
sat in to hold down the rest of the night trick, while McGrew in sleep
should recover his senses. But McGrew did not sleep. McGrew was
fairly started--and McGrew had two bottles at command.

At five-thirty in the morning, No. 81, the local freight, west, making
a meeting point, rattled her long string of flats and boxes on the
Angel Forks siding; and the Kid, unknotting his bandage, dropped it
into a drawe