"He's straight, all right," said Corliss. "He 'tends right to business. The boys like him."
"Everybody liked him," asserted Will Corliss. "But he is the queerest Hobo that ever hit the grit."
"Some queer, at that. It's after nine now, Will. You get to bed. I want to see Banks a minute. I'll be back soon."
When John Corliss had left the room, something intangible went with him. Will felt his moral stamina crumbling. He waited until he heard his brother leave the hotel. Then he went downstairs and returned with a bottle of whiskey. He drank, hid the bottle, and went to bed. He knew that without the whiskey he would have been unable to sleep.
The brothers had breakfast together next morning. After breakfast Corliss went for the team and returned to the hotel, hoping to induce his brother to come home with him. Will Corliss, however, pleaded weariness, and said that he would stay at the Palace until he felt better.
"All right, Will. I'll leave some cash with Banks. He'll give you what you need as you want it."
"Banks? The sheriff?"
"Yes."
"Oh, all right. Suppose you think I'm not to be trusted."
"No. But we'll leave it that way till I see you again. Write in if you need me—and take care of yourself. When you get ready to settle down, I'll turn over your share of the Concho to you. So long, Will."