ext morning when he boarded the
train which was to carry him back to the hills, after a cautious
reconnaissance that finally located Denny in the coach ahead of him,
he once or twice sought to analyze his actions for an explanation less
derogatory to his own self-respect.

"They wan't no real sense ner reason in my hangin' around, jest
gittin' under foot," he stated thoughtfully. "I done about all I was
called on to do, didn't I? Why, I reckon when all's said and done, I
jest about won that fight myself! For if I hadn't a-come he wouldn't
never a-got that ribbon. And Godfrey, but didn't that wake him!"

There was more than a little satisfaction to be gained in viewing
himself in that light. With less to occupy his mind and unlimited
leisure for elaboration it could have served as the entire day's theme
for thought. But so far as explaining his almost panic haste to get
away the reasoning was palpably unsatisfactory--so unsatisfactory that
he cringed guiltily behind the back of the seat in front of him
whenever anyone entered the front door of the car.

He gave quite the entire day to the problem and long before night hid
the flying fences outside his window he decided that eventually there
could be only one way out of it. Sooner or later he had to face the
issue: he had to tell Young Denny that he had betrayed his trust. Even
that damp wad of bills which the boy had pressed into his hand, that
night before he left, still burned within his coat.

Once or twice he rose, during the return journey and advanced with
forced jauntiness as far as the door of the car ahead. But he always
stopped there, after a moment's uneasy contemplation of Denny's back,
turned a little sadly to the water-cooler, and returned slowly and
unenthusiastically to his seat. Twice when it was necessary to change
trains he made the transfer with a lightning precision that would have
done honor to any prestidigitator. And when, hours after nightfall,
the train came to a groaning standstill before Boltonwood's deserted
station shed he waited his opportunity and dropped off in the dark--on
the wrong side of the track!

Denny had already become a dark blur ahead of him when he, too, turned
in and took the long road toward town.

Old Jerry followed the big-shouldered figure that night with heavily
lagging feet--he followed heavy in spirit and bereft of hope. He was
still behind him when Denny finally paused before the sagging gate of
John Anderson's