stopped. The unlucky question confirmed his consciousness of his
physical and mental disturbance, and he dreaded the ready ridicule
of his companion. He would tell him later; Masters need not know
WHEN he had made the strike. Besides, in his present vagueness, he
shrank from the brusque, practical questioning that would be sure
to follow the revelation to a man of Masters' temperament.

"I'm a little giddy here," he answered, putting his hand to his
head, "and I thought I'd knock off until I was better."

Masters examined him with two very critical gray eyes. "Tell ye
what, old man!--if you don't quit this dog-goned foolin' of yours
in that God-forsaken tunnel you'll get loony! Times you get so
tangled up in follerin' that blind lead o' yours you ain't
sensible!"

Here was the opportunity to tell him all, and vindicate the justice
of his theories! But he shrank from it again; and now, adding to
the confusion, was a singular sense of dread at the mental labor of
explanation. He only smiled painfully, and began to move away.
"Look you!" said Masters, peremptorily, "ye want about three
fingers of straight whiskey to set you right, and you've got to
take it with me. D--n it, man, it may be the last drink we take
together! Don't look so skeered! I mean--I made up my mind about
ten minutes ago to cut the whole d--d thing, and light out for
fresh diggings. I'm sick of getting only grub wages out o' this
bill. So that's what I mean by saying it's the last drink you and
me'll take together. You know my ways: sayin' and doin' with me's
the same thing."