and lonely that it leaks out of me
like sweat and drops on the floor. I reckon it is kinder natural for a
feller to want what he's been brought up on, especially if he has, by
his own act, cut it out and signed his death-warrant. Oh, that was a
fool thing, Hank--a blasted fool thing! It seems to me that I dream o'
them damn mountains and blue skies every night hand-running--and the
good, old-fashioned grub we used to have! And, Hank, I hain't just a
dead man--another feller has took my place and, as you say, is gloating
over me."

"Oh, well, as for that matter," and Bradley looked idly out through the
doorway, "you ought to settle his hash--pull 'im down from his perch."

"Yes," ironically, "now that would be a good idea, wouldn't it?"

"The easiest thing on earth, Dick. Alf Henley ain't legally married to
your wife. He's living with her, but they hain't been tied by law."

The barkeeper stared blankly; his features worked as if he were trying
to solve a mathematical problem. He started to speak, but his mouth fell
open and remained so; his lower lip hung wet with saliva.

"Why, no," Bradley went on. "No woman can legally marry another man
while her husband is alive. She didn't get no divorce. She's your wife
yet, and Alf Henley has simply slid in and taken possession of all you
got on earth. I know what I'd do; I'd hike back there and walk in as if
nothing had happened, and I'd kick that skunk out, too, or shoot the top
of his head off. Dick, she never loved anybody but you; she'd be so glad
to have you back she'd throw her arms round your neck and hold you
tight. It is the talk of the whole county about how true she is to your
memory. It has driven Henley mighty nigh crazy."

Wrinkle stood up. He was shaking like a man with palsy. He leaned over
the table and gazed almost tearfully into the designing eyes before him.

"Yes, old Het's a good girl," he muttered. "She was always the right
stuff. I know in reason that she'd be the--the same as she was. I know
her through and through and exactly how to manage her, but, Hank, they
all think I'm--- dead!"

"Folks have made mistakes before," Bradley argued, in a tense and yet
plausible tone. "You was hit in the head by a falling beam in that
storm. You told me so. You was laid up with a lot of others in the
hospital, and for a solid month didn't know your hat from a hole in the
ground. That's how the report went out that you was done for. Why, Dick,
there have been n