For a few other minutes neither of them spoke; then Brant rose and girded himself for the tramp down the mountain. “I must be going,” he said. “I’m glad to have had an hour with you; it has given me a glimpse of the old life that is like the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land. And I want to see more of you, if you will let me.” “It will be your own fault if you don’t. Have you got to go now?” “Yes. There is a tough crowd up from Carbonado, and Gaynard will have his hands full to-night.” “Wait a minute till I get my overcoat, and I’ll go with you.” Brant waited, but when Hobart reappeared he made difficulties. “You’d better stay where you are, Ned. It’s likely there will be trouble and a free fight; and you are new to the place.” “New to Silverette, but not to mining camps and rough crowds,” Hobart amended. Brant still hesitated. “I know, but there is always the risk--the bystander’s risk, which is usually bigger than that of the fellow with his gun out. Besides, you have a wife----” Hobart pushed him into the downward path. “You don’t know Kate,” he objected. “She would drive me to it if she were here and knew the circumstances. She knows the camps better than either of us.” Fifteen minutes later they entered Dick Gaynard’s dance hall together, and the assayer loitered in the barroom while Brant edged his way back to the alcove in the rear, where stood the faro table. Presently Hobart saw the dealer rise and give his chair to Brant; then the loiterer felt free to look about him. There was nothing new or redeeming in the scene. There was the typical perspiring crowd of rough men and tawdry women surging to and fro, pounding the dusty floor to the time beaten out of the discordant piano; the same flaring oil lamps and murky atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke and reeking with the fumes of alcohol; the same silent groups ringing the roulette boards and the faro table. Hobart looked on, and was conscious of a little shiver of disgust--a vicarious thrill of shame for all concerned, but chiefly for his friend. And Brant had come to this for his daily bread! Brant, the honour man, the athlete, the well-beloved of all who knew him!