re, his credulity--he ran
the scale of Frank's various qualifications, seeking always to establish
a well-defined limitation somewhere.

But Frank was utterly, absolutely plastic. He laughed and drank when Bud
suggested that they drink. He laughed and played whatever game Bud urged
him into. He laughed and agreed with Bud when Bud made statements to
test the credulity of anyman. He laughed and said, "Sure. Let's go!" when
Bud pined for a change of scene.

On the third day Bud suddenly stopped in the midst of a game of pool
which neither was steady enough to play, and gravely inspected the
chalked end of his cue.

"That's about enough of this," he said. "We're drunk. We're so drunk we
don't know a pocket from a prospect hole. I'm tired of being a hog. I'm
going to go get another drink and sober up. And if you're the dog Fido
you've been so far, you'll do the same." He leaned heavily upon the
table, and regarded Frank with stern, bloodshot blue eyes.

Frank laughed and slid his cue the length of the table. He also leaned a
bit heavily. "Sure," he said. "I'm ready, any time you are."

"Some of these days," Bud stated with drunken deliberation, "they'll
take and hang you, Frank, for being such an agreeable cuss." He took
Frank gravely by the arm and walked him to the bar, paid for two beers
with almost his last dollar, and, still holding Frank firmly, walked him
out of doors and down the street to Frank's cabin. He pushed him inside
and stood looking in upon him with a sour appraisement.

"You are the derndest fool I ever run across--but at that you're a good
scout too," he informed Frank. "You sober up now, like I said. You ought
to know better 'n to act the way you've been acting. I'm sure ashamed
of you, Frank. Adios--I'm going to hit the trail for camp." With that
he pulled the door shut and walked away, with that same circumspect
exactness in his stride which marks the drunken man as surely as does a
stagger.

He remembered what it was that had brought him to town--which is more
than most men in his condition would have done. He went to the pest
office and inquired for mail, got what proved to be the assayer's
report, and went on. He bought half a dozen bananas which did not
remind him of that night when he had waited on the Oakland pier for the
mysterious Foster, though they might have recalled the incident vividly
to mind had he been sober. He had been wooing forgetfulness, and for the
time being he had won.