leaving the boy at a tumbled-down house a bit farther on he found a
half-dollar in his pocket and proffered it.

"Here, Johnny," he said, smiling. "This is for some candy."

The boy put his hands behind his back. "My name's William," he said,
with a quiet, odd dignity. "An' I don't take money off'n no one 'less
I work for it!"

"My name's William, too, my boy," Conniston answered, much amused;
"but you and I have very different ideas about taking money!"

"Proud little cuss," he told himself, as he strode on along the
street. "Wonder who taught him that?"

Here and there in the dull dome above him the stars were beginning to
come out. On either hand the pale-yellow rays from kerosene-lamps
straggled through windows and doors, making restless shadows
underfoot. From the door of the saloon the brightest light crept out
into the night. And with it came men's voices. Having a desire for
companionship, and not craving that of Hapgood in his present mood,
Conniston stepped in at the low door, and, going to the bar, called
for a glass of beer. There were half a dozen men, among whom he
recognized the proprietor of the "hotel" and the men with whom he had
been playing cards, and also the cowboys who had eaten at the other
table. In the center of the room, under a big nickeled swinging-lamp,
a man was dealing faro while the others standing or sitting about him
made their bets. A glance told Conniston that the hotel man was
playing heavily, his chips and gold stacked high in front of him.