“I s’pose not,” Uncle Hozie sighed deeply. “I suppose it’s jist sort of a drunken bond between inebriates that makes me feel sorry for Joe Rich, Emma; but I do. He looked so doggone helpless and lonesome this mornin’. No, I didn’t tell him I felt sorry. He don’t deserve sympathy.”
“He don’t deserve anythin’,” declared Aunt Emma.
“Hangin’—mebbe.”
“And you feel sorry for him?”
“I want to, Emma.” Uncle Hozie turned and looked at her. “I’ve worked with that boy a lot. Me and him have rubbed knees on some hard rides, and I kinda looked on Joe like I would on my own son. He was straight and square—until now, Emma. Mebbe,” he hesitated for a moment, “mebbe I’m feelin’ sorry for the Joe Rich of yesterday.”
“Well, that’s different, Hozie,” said Aunt Emma softly, and went back in the house. She had thought a lot of Joe Rich of yesterday, too.
Joe rode back to Pinnacle City and stabled his tired horse. He had spent all his savings for a little four-room house on the outskirts of Pinnacle and had gone in debt for the furnishings. It was to have been their home.
Len Kelsey was asleep in the office when Joe came in and sat down at his desk. He woke up and looked curiously at Joe.
“Wondered where yuh was, Joe,” he said sleepily.
“Yeah?”