as he was called, "Whiskey Dick," or, indicated still more succinctly by
the Hill humorists, "Alky Hall."

Everybody had seen that sodden, puffy, but good-humored face; everybody
had felt the fiery exhalations of that enormous red beard, which always
seemed to be kept in a state of moist, unkempt luxuriance by liquor;
everybody knew the absurd dignity of manner and attempted precision of
statement with which he was wont to disguise his frequent excesses.
Very few, however, knew, or cared to know, the pathetic weariness and
chilling horror that sometimes looked out of those bloodshot eyes.

He was evidently equally unprepared for the three silent seated figures
before the door, and for a moment looked at them blankly with the doubts
of a frequently deceived perception. Was he sure that they were quite
real? He had not dared to look at his companion for verification, but
smiled vaguely.

"Good-evening," said Demorest pleasantly.

Whiskey Dick's face brightened. "Good-evenin', good-evenin' yourselves,
boys--and see how you like it! Lemme interdrush my ole frien' William
J. Steptoe, of Red Gulch. Stepsho--Steptoe--is shtay--ish stay--"
He stopped, hiccupped, waved his hand gravely, and with an air of
reproachful dignity concluded, "sojourning for the present on the Bar.
We wish to offer our congrashulashen and felish--felish--" He paused
again, and, leaning against the door-post, added severely, "--itations."

His companion, however, laughed coarsely, and, pushing past Dick,
entered the cabin. He was a short, powerful man, with a closely cropped
crust of beard and hair that seemed to adhere to his round head like