This resolution, however, like all others of a prideful nature, went down before the renewed assaults of the allies, hunger and dementia. Whereby it speedily came to pass that he retained only the garments he stood in, and these soon became shabby and wayworn. Since, in his own estimation, if not in that of others, the clothes do make the man to a very considerable extent, Jeffard gradually withdrew from his former lounging-places, confining himself to the less critical region below Larimer Street during the day, and avoiding as much as possible the haunts of his former associates at all hours. It was for this cause that Bartrow, on his return from Chaffee County, was unable to find Jeffard. Meeting Lansdale when the search had become unhopeful, the large-hearted man of the altitudes lamented his failure after his own peculiar fashion. "When was it you saw him last?" he inquired of the transplanted Bostonian. "It was about a week ago. To be exact, it was a week Tuesday. I remember because we dined together that evening." "Now doesn't that beat the band? Here I've gone and got him a soft snap up on the range--good pay, and little or nothing to do--and he's got to go and drop out like a monte man's little joker. It's enough to make a man swear continuous!" "I don't think he would have gone with you," Lansdale ventured. "Wouldn't, eh? If I can find him I'll take him by the neck and make him go; savez? How do you put it up? Runaway? or a pile of bones out on the prairie somewhere?" "It's hard to say. Jeffard's a queer combination of good and not so good,--like a few others of us,--and just now the negative part is on top. He was pretty low the night we were together, though when we separated I thought he was taking himself a little less seriously." "Didn't talk about getting the drop on himself, or anything like that?" "N--no, not in a way to leave the impression that he was in any immediate danger of doing such a thing." Bartrow chewed the end of his cigar reflectively. "Hasn't taken to quizzing the world through the bottom of a whiskey-glass?" "No, I should say not. Thus far, I think he has but the one devil." "And that's the 'tiger,' of course. I knew about that; I've known it all along. The Lord forgive me! I don't know but I was the ring-master in that show. You know we chased around a good deal together, along at the first, and it's as likely as not I showed him a whole lot of things he'd better not have seen." The half-cynical smile lightened upon Lansdale's grave face. "That is one of my criticisms of Western manners," he commented. "When you get hold of a stranger, you welcome him with open arms--and proceed to regale him with a near-hand view of the back yards and cesspools. And then you swear piteously when he goes back East and tells his friends what an abandoned lot you are."