e of the
invitation. He rose and insisted upon shaking hands.

"A personally conducted tour," he stammered gayly.

"A pilgrimage to the nest from which young genius first spread its
wings, personally conducted by my friend, Mr. O'Mara." But his moods
were growing more and more uncertain and changeable, now. He bent a
baleful glance upon Fat Joe. "Is this--person going to accompany us,"
offensively he wanted to know.

Steve shook his head.

"Joe'll have to stay here and hold things down until we return," he
explained.

Garry resumed his seat.

"Then I'll go," he stated. The baleful light was slow in leaving his
eyes. And, after a rambling, muttered something to himself: "Too
officious . . . wouldn't let me have but one drink every three
hours . . . better we left him alone. He might shoot somebody,
too--looks as though he might shoot and investigate at leisure."

With that he turned once more to thoughts of him who, firing from
ambush, had left a trail of hob-nails to voice mutely the haste of his
retreat. It had a fascination for him; his mind went back to it
automatically, the only idea apparently upon which he found it possible
to center his faculties. Now and then he referred to it aloud, in
jumbled and meaningless ejaculations. Both men knew that he did not
know what he was saying, and yet his reference to Fat Joe had left a
hint of pain in the latter's eyes. It was still there when Joe arose,
an hour later, and jerked his head toward Garry's quarters.

"If you need me, sing out," he said. "There's whiskey locked in the
medicine chest--and I'll be sleeping light."

The words meant nothing to Garry, but he noted Joe's departure. Steve
saw that his eyes were fixed, his lips crusted with fever, when he too
came to his feet in a supreme effort, and steadied himself by the back
of his chair.

"I've been most thoughtless, Steve," he apologized charmingly. It was
the spirit of the old Garry talking through the flesh of the Garry he
had become. "I've been unpardonably selfish. You must be tired; you
have worked hard to-day."

In turn he made as if to cross to the door. Steve drew him back.

"Joe's taken your bed," he explained. "He's been an hour asleep by
now. We'll be getting away at daybreak, and he always did hate to be
waked an instant before his hour, so you'll have to occupy his bunk."

It took Garry a minute or two to assimilate that.

"Surely," he agreed. "Daybreak." Then, dre