THE BROTHERS
As Corliss rode up to the ranch gate he took the mail from the little
wooden mail-box and stuffed it into his pocket with the exception of a
letter which bore the postmark of Antelope and his address in a
familiar handwriting. He tore the envelope open hastily and glanced at
the signature, "Will."
Then he read the letter. It told of his brother's unexpected arrival
in Antelope, penniless and sick. Corliss was not altogether surprised
except in regard to the intuition of Eleanor, which puzzled him, coming
as it had so immediately preceding the letter.
He rode to the rancho and ordered one of the men to have the buckboard
at the gate early next morning. He wondered why his brother had not
driven out to the ranch, being well known in Antelope and able to
command credit. Then he thought of Eleanor, and surmised that his
brother possibly wished to avoid meeting her. And as it happened, he
was not mistaken.
On the evening of the following day he drove up to the Palace Hotel and
inquired for his brother. The proprietor drew him to one side. "It's
all right for you to see him, John, but I been tryin' to keep him in
his room. He's--well, he ain't just feelin' right to be on the street.
Sabe?"
Corliss nodded, and turning, climbed the stairs. He knocked at a door.
There was no response. He knocked again.
"What you want?" came in a muffled voice.
"It's John," said Corliss. "Let me in."
The door opened, and Corliss stepped into the room to confront a dismal
scene. On the washstand stood several empty whiskey bottles and murky
glasses. The bedding was half on the floor, and standing with hand
braced against the wall was Will Corliss, ragged, unshaven, and visibly
trembling. His eyelids were red and swollen. His face was white save
for the spots that burned on his emaciated cheeks.
"John!" he exclaimed, and extended his hand.
Corliss shook hands with him and then motioned him to a chair. "Well,
Will, if you're sick, this isn't the way to get over it."
"Brother's keeper, eh? Glad to see me back, eh, Jack?"
"Not in this shape. What do you suppose Nell would think?"
"I don't know and I don't care. I'm sick. That's all."
"Where have you been--for the last three years?"
"A whole lot you care. Been? I have been everywhere from heaven to
hell--the whole route. I'm in hell just now."
"You look it. Will, what can I do for you? You want to quit the booze
and straighten up. You're killing yourself."
"Maybe I don't know it! Say, Jack, I want some dough. I'm broke."
"All right. How much?"
"A couple of hundred--for a starter."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"What do you suppose? Not going to eat it."
"No. And you're not going to drink it, either. I'll see that you have
everything you need. You're of age and can do as you like. But you're
not going to kill yourself with whiskey."
Will Corliss stared at his brother; then laughed.
"Have one with me, Jack. You didn't used to be afraid of it."
"I'm not now, but I'm not going to take a drink with you."
"Sorry. Well, here's looking." And the brother poured himself a
half-tumblerful of whiskey and gulped it down. "Now, let's talk
business."
Corliss smiled despite his disgust. "All right. You talk and I'll
listen."
The brother slouched to the bed and sat down. "How's the Concho been
making it?" he asked.
"We've been doing pretty fair. I've been busy."
"How's old man Loring?"
"About the same."
"Nell gone into mourning?"
Corliss frowned and straightened his shoulders.
"See here, Will, you said you'd talk business. I'm waiting."
"Touched you that time, eh? Well, you can have Nell and be damned. No
Mexican blood for mine."
"If you weren't down and out--" began Corliss; then checked himself.
"Go ahead. What do you want?"
"I told you--money."
"And I told you--no."
The younger man started up. "Think because I'm edged up that I don't
know what's mine? You've been piling it up for three years and I've
been hitting the road. Now I've come to get what belongs to me and I'm
going to get it!"
"All right, Will. But don't forget that I was made guardian of your
interest in the Concho until you got old enough to be responsible. The
will reads, until you come of age, providing you had settled down and
showed that you could take care of yourself. Father didn't leave his
money to either of us to be drunk up, or wasted."
"Prodigal son, eh, Jack? Well, I'm it. What's the use of getting sore
at me? All I want is a couple of hundred and I'll get out of this town
mighty quick. It's the deadest burg I've struck yet."
John Corliss gazed at his brother, thinking of the bright-faced,
blue-eyed lad that had ridden the mesas and the hills with him. He was
touched by the other's miserable condition, and even more grieved to
realize that this condition was but the outcome of a rapid lowering of
the other's moral and physical well-being. He strode to him and sat
beside him. "Will, I'll give anything I have to help you. You know
that. Anything! You're so changed that it just makes me sick to
realize it. You needn't have got where you are. I would have helped
you out any time. Why didn't you write to me?"
"Write? And have you tell Nell Loring how your good little brother was
whining for help? She would have enjoyed that--after what she handed
me."
"I don't know what she said to you," said Corliss, glancing at his
brother. "But I know this: she didn't say anything that wasn't so. If
that's the reason you left home, it was a mighty poor one. You've
always had your own way, Will."
"Why shouldn't I? Who's got anything to say about it? You seem to
think that I always need looking after--you and Nell Loring. I can
look after myself."
"Doesn't look like it," said Corliss, gesturing toward the washstand.
"Had anything to eat to-day?"
"No, and I don't want anything."
"Well, wash up and we'll go and get some clothes and something to eat.
I'll wait."
"You needn't. Just give me a check--and I won't bother you after that."
"No. I said wash up! Get busy now!"
The younger man demurred, but finally did as he was told. They went
downstairs and out to the street. In an hour they returned, Will
Corliss looking somewhat like his former self in respectable raiment.
"John," he said as they entered the room again, "you've always been a
good old stand-by, ever since we were kids. I guess I got in bad this
time, but I'm going to quit. I don't want to go back to the
Concho--you know why. If you'll give me some dough I'll take care of
myself. Just forget what I said about my share of the money."
"Wait till morning," said Corliss. "I'll take the room next, here, and
if you get to feeling bad, call me."
"All right, Jack. I'll cut it out. Maybe I will go back to the
Concho; I don't know."
"Wish you would, Will. You'll get on your feet. There's plenty to do
and we're short-handed. Think it over."
"Does--Nell--ever say anything?" queried the brother.
"She talks about you often. Yesterday we were talking about you. I
told her what Sundown said about--"
"Sundown?"
"Forgot about him. He drifted in a few months ago. I met up with him
at the water-hole ranch. He was broke and looking for work. Gave him
a job cooking, and he made good. He told me that he used to have a pal
named Will Corliss--"
"And Sundown's at the Concho! I never told him where I lived."
"He came into Antelope on a freight. Got side-tracked and had to stay.
He didn't know this used to be your country till I told him."
"Well, that beats me, Jack! Say, Sun was just an uncle to me when we
were on the road. We made it clear around, freights, cattle-boats, and
afoot. I didn't hit the booze then. Funny thing: he used to hit it,
and I kind of weaned him. Now it's me. . ."
"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."
Will Corliss watched his brother drive away. When the team had
disappeared up the road he walked down the street to the sheriff's
office. The sheriff greeted him cordially.
"I came for that money, Jim."
"Sure! Here you are," and the sheriff handed him a five-dollar
gold-piece.
"Quit kidding and come across," said Corliss, ignoring the significance
of the allowance.
"Can't, Will. John said to give you five any time you wanted it, but
only five a day."
"He did, eh? John's getting mighty close in his old age, ain't he?"
"Mebby. I don't know."
"How much did he leave for me?"
"Five a day, as I said."
"Oh, you go to hell!"
The sheriff smiled pleasantly. "Nope, Billy! I'm goin' to stay right
to home. Have a cigar?"
The young man refused the proffered cigar, picked up the gold-piece and
strolled out.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair. "Well if Billy feels that way
toward folks, reckon he won't get far with John, or anybody else. Too
dinged bad. He used to be a good kid."