He rode to the rancho and ordered one of the men to have the buckboard
at the gate early next morning. He wondered why his brother had not
driven out to the ranch, being well known in Antelope and able to
command credit. Then he thought of Eleanor, and surmised that his
brother possibly wished to avoid meeting her. And as it happened, he
was not mistaken.

On the evening of the following day he drove up to the Palace Hotel and
inquired for his brother. The proprietor drew him to one side. "It's
all right for you to see him, John, but I been tryin' to keep him in
his room. He's--well, he ain't just feelin' right to be on the street.
Sabe?"

Corliss nodded, and turning, climbed the stairs. He knocked 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,