Was he awake or dreaming, or was this some trick of liquor in his
often distorted fancy? He, Whiskey Dick! the butt of his friends, the
chartered oracle of the barrooms, even in whose wretched vanity there
was always the haunting suspicion that he was despised and scorned; he,
who had dared so much in speech, and achieved so little in fact! he,
whose habitual weakness had even led him into the wildest indiscretion
here; he--now offered a reward for that indiscretion! He, Whiskey Dick,
the solicited escort of these two beautiful and peerless girls! What
would they say at the Ford? What would his friends think? It would be
all over the Ford the next day. His past would be vindicated, his future
secured. He grew erect at the thought. It was almost in other voice,
and with no trace of his previous exaggeration, that he said, "With
pleasure."

"Then, if you will bring the horses at once, we shall be ready when you
return."

In another instant he had vanished, as if afraid to trust the reality of
his good fortune to the dangers of delay. At the end of half an hour
he reappeared, leading the two horses, himself mounted on a half-broken
mustang. A pair of large, jingling silver spurs and a stiff sombrero,
borrowed with the mustang from some mysterious source, were donned to do
honor to the occasion.

The young girls were not yet ready, but he was shown by the Chinese
servant into the parlor to wait for them. The decanter of whiskey and
glasses were still invitingly there. He was hot, trembling, and flushed
with triumph. He walked to the table and laid his hand on the decanter,
when an odd thought flashed upon him. He would not drink this time.