6. 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."