Not knowing what to do with himself now, he drifted back to the town
and sat in the scanty shade of a joshua, prepared to commune further
with himself. Looking up after a time, his eyes descried in the
distance the figures of two men who were walking toward him.

"I bet that's Con Maguire," he murmured. "Yep--him and that old
'Arkinsaw.' They've got their time-checks, tuh; I kin tell the way
they walk. I bet I know wot they're sayin'. Con, he's got a little
ranch up tuh Provo, and he's fer makin' right up the line and gettin'
that old no-good Arkinsaw to go along and pass up the booze.

"Poor old Arkinsaw!" mused Cassidy shrewdly. "He's worked three months
steady for Donovans', drivin' scraper, the poor old slob, and their
chuck is rotten. I'll bet he's terrible glad to get back tuh Number
One. He's got forty dollars now. I bet he's near crazy. He allers
looks that way when he's got forty dollars," said Cassidy.

"Sure I'll go with you, Con," Arkinsaw was saying. "I always meant to
go, reelly, truly I did. You ask any of the fellers back to Donovans'.
I was allers savin', 'I'm goin' out home when Con Maguire goes'--and,
sure enough, here I am. I'll be to the train the same time as you.
We'll go home on the same train, Con; sure we will." The old man
laughed nervously. His eyes were bright with some strange
excitement--but half of it was fear.

"Say, Con," he whispered hoarsely, "I'll be all right. You jest ketch
holt of my arm when we go by; I'll be all right then. Say, Con," he
guttered, in an agony of fear and desperation, "you hear me? Only git
me by that first saloon."