"You take a look at the decanter," said the man, who went up with
Winston, carrying a lamp. "He's been wanting brandy all the time, but
it doesn't seem to have muddled him."
Winston dismissed the man and sat down in front of Courthorne.
"Well?" he said.
Courthorne laughed. "You ought to be a witty man, though one would
scarcely charge you with that. You surmised correctly this morning.
It is money I want."
"You had my answer."
"Of course. Still, I don't want very much in the meanwhile, and you
haven't heard what led up to the demand, or why I came back to you.
You are evidently not curious, but I'm going to tell you. Soon after I
left you, I fell very sick, and lay in the saloon of a little desolate
settlement for days. The place was suffocating, and the wind blew the
alkali dust in. They had only horrible brandy, and bitter water to
drink it with, and I lay there on my back, panting, with the flies
crawling over me. I knew if I stayed any longer it would finish me,
and when there came a merciful cool day I got myself into the saddle
and started off to find you. I don't quite know how I made the
journey, and during a good deal of it I couldn't see the prairie, but I
knew you would feel there was an obligation on you to do something for
me. Of course, I could put it differently."
Winston had as little liking for Courthorne as he had ever had, but he
remembered the time when he had lain very sick in his lonely log hut.
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