Danny pushed aside the curtain to enter, and a fat man bumped him with a violent jolt. "Oh, excuse me!" he begged, backing off. "Sorry. I'll be back in a jiffy with more substantial apologies." Three others in the compartment made room for Danny, who lighted his cigarette and drew a great gasp of smoke into his lungs. In a moment the fat man was back, his eyes dancing. In his hand was a silver whisky flask. "Now if you don't say this is the finest booze ever turned out of a gin mill, I'll go plumb!" he declared. "Drink, friend, drink!" He handed the flask to one of the others. "Here's to you!" the man saluted, raising the flask high and then putting its neck to his mouth. Danny's tongue went again to his lips; his breath quickened and the light in his eyes became a greedy glitter. He could hear the gurgle of the liquid; his own throat responded in movement as he watched the swallowing. He squeezed his cigarette until the thin paper burst and the tobacco sifted out. "Great!" declared the man with a sigh as he lowered the flask. "Great!" He smacked his lips and winked. "Ah! No whisky's bad, but this's better'n most of it!" Then, extending the flask toward Danny, he said: "Try it, brother; it's good for a soul." But Danny, rising to his feet with a suddenness that was almost a spring, strode past him to the door. His face suddenly had become tight and white and harried. He paused at the entry, holding the curtain aside, and turned to see the other, flask still extended, staring at him in bewilderment. "I'm not drinking, you know," said Danny weakly, "not drinking." Then he went out, and the fat man who had produced the liquor said soberly: "Not drinking, and havin' a time staying off it. But say--ain't that some booze?" Long disuse of the power to plan concretely, to think seriously of serious facts, had left it weak. Danny strove to route himself through to that new life he knew was so necessary, but he could not call back the ability of tense thinking with a word or a wish. And while he tried for that end the boy commenced to realize that perhaps he had not so far to seek for his fresh start. Perhaps it was not waiting for him in Colt, Colorado. Perhaps it was right here in his throat, in his nerves. Perhaps the creature in him was not a thing to be cleared away before he could begin to fight--perhaps it was the proper object at which to direct his whole attack.