a law breaker, an escaped
convict, and a murderer. That's what drinking did for him; drinking and
injustice in money matters together."

Burgess started and his face grew pale.

"Oh, it's a fact, Professor. There are several roads to ruin. One by
the route I've taken. One may be too much love of money, of women, or
of having your own way. You can ruin your soul by getting it set on one
thing above everything else. Education, for instance, like the Wreams
back there in Cambridge."

"The Wreams!" Burgess exclaimed.

"Yes, old Joshua Wream sold himself to an appetite for musty old
Sanscrit till he'd sacrifice anybody's comfort and joy for it, same as I
sold out to a fool's craving for drink. You'll know the Wreams sometime
as I know 'em now. Fenneben's only a stepbrother and the West made a man
of him. He was always a gentleman."

"Go on!" Vincent's voice was hardly audible.

"This outlaw, boot-legger, thief, and murderer was a respectable fellow
once, the adopted son of a wealthy family back East, who began by
spoiling him, lavished money on him, and let him have his own way in
everything. He was a gay youngster on the side, given to drinking and
fast company. He fell in love with a pretty girl, but when she found him
out, she cut him. Then he went to the dogs, blaming her because she had
sense enough to throw him over where he belonged. She fell in love--the
right kind of love--with another man. And this young fool who had no
claim on her at all, swore vengeance. Her family wanted her to marry the
young sport because he had money. They were long on money--her father
was, anyhow. But she would n't do it."

"Did she marry the one she really cared for?" Burgess asked eagerly.

"No; but that's another story. Meantime this fellow's father died,
leaving the boy he, himself, had started on the wrong road, entirely out
of his will. The boy went to the devil--and he's still there."

Saxon paused and looked once more at the tiny wavering smoke column,
hardly visible now.

"He's over yonder hiding away from the light of day under the bluffs by
the fire that sends that curl of smoke up through the crevices in the
rock, an outlaw thief."

Saxon gazed long at the landscape beyond the Walnut. When he spoke
again, it was with an effort.

"Professor, this outlaw got a hold on me once when I was drunk, drunk
by his making. It would do no good to tell you about that. You could n't
help me, nor harm him. You'll trust me in th