"If you weren't down and out--" began Corliss; then checked himself.
"Go ahead. What do you want?"

"I told you--money."

"And I told you--no."

The younger man started up. "Think because I'm edged up that I don't
know what's mine? You've been piling it up for three years and I've
been hitting the road. Now I've come to get what belongs to me and I'm
going to get it!"

"All right, Will. But don't forget that I was made guardian of your
interest in the Concho until you got old enough to be responsible. The
will reads, until you come of age, providing you had settled down and
showed that you could take care of yourself. Father didn't leave his
money to either of us to be drunk up, or wasted."

"Prodigal son, eh, Jack? Well, I'm it. What's the use of getting sore
at me? All I want is a couple of hundred and I'll get out of this town
mighty quick. It's the deadest burg I've struck yet."

John Corliss gazed at his brother, thinking of the bright-faced,
blue-eyed lad that had ridden the mesas and the hills with him. He was
touched by the other's miserable condition, and even more grieved to
realize that this condition was but the outcome of a rapid lowering of
the other's moral and physical well-being. He strode to him and sat
beside him. "Will, I'll give anything I have to help you. You know
that. Anything! You're so changed that it just makes me sick to