"They left a pie-anno and a foldin'-bed, and a automobile and a safety-razor!" said the landlord, looking reproachfully at his big wife, who was motioning him out to his labors again. "Or any word for Dr. Slavens?" the stranger pursued with well-contained patience. "What do you want to know for?" asked the woman, turning upon him suddenly. "Because the grips belonged to me, madam; I am Dr. Slavens." The landlord looked at him sharply. "Oh, you're the feller that went off on a drunk, ain't you? I remember you now. Well, they didn't leave no grips here." "And no word either that I know of," added the woman. She swept Dr. Slavens with wondering eyes, for she had held a pretty good opinion of him before his sudden, and evidently heavy, fall. "But where in this world have you been, man?" she asked. "Nowhere in _this_ world," he answered. "I've been taking a little side-trip to hell!" "You cert'nly look like it, mister!" the woman shuddered, closing the wide V at her bosom, the flaring garment clutched in her great ring-encumbered hand. "Will you tell me, then, about my friends?" he asked. "Gone; that's all we know," said she. "Part went on the train, two or three days ago; some went on the stage; and the rest left in a wagon this morning," said the landlord. But he couldn't tell who went on the train, the stage, or the wagon. It was none of his business, he said. They paid their bill; that was all he knew, or cared. "May I take a look around the tent to see if they left any written word for me there?" the doctor requested. "Go on," said the woman, a little softening of sympathy coming into her hard eyes. Dr. Slavens went back to the tent, which stood as it had been left that morning when the last of the party went away. The canvas under which their table stood stretched there hospitably still, and the stove with the morning's ashes cold upon its little hearth. Inside, the cots were all in place, but there was not a line of writing from any friendly hand to tell him where they had gone, or where his property had been left. He walked toward the business part of the town and turned down Main Street, considering with himself what turn to make next. His head bent in meditation, he passed along lamely, his hands in the pockets of his torn trousers, where there was nothing, not even the thickness of a dime, to cramp his finger-room. Pausing in the aimless way of one who has no unfinished business ahead of him, he looked around, marking the changes which had come upon the street during those few days.