Toppy waved his left hand to indicate his displeasure at the inadequacy of the bartender’s reply. “Obvious, my dear Watson, obvious,” he said. “I know that I’m at this table, because here I am; and I know I’ve been sleeping here because I just woke up. Let’s broaden the range of our information. What town is this, if it is a town, and if it is, how did I happen to come here, may I ask?” The half-breed’s grin disappeared, gradually to give place to an expression of amazement. “You mean to say you come to this town and don’t know what town it is?” he demanded. “Then why you come? What you do here?” Toppy’s brow corrugated in an expression of deep puzzlement. “That’s another thing that’s rather puzzling, too, brother,” he replied. “Why did I come? I’d like to know that, too. Like very, very much to know that. Where am I, how did I come here, and why? Three questions I’d like very, very much to have answered.” He sat for a moment in deep thought, then turned toward the bartender with the pleased look of a man who has found an inspiration. “I tell you what you do, brother—you answer the first two questions and in the light of that information I’ll see if I can’t ponder out the third.” The half-breed leaned heavily across the single-plank bar and watched Toppy closely. “This town is Rail Head,” he said slowly, as if speaking to some one of whose mental capacity he had great doubts. “You come here by last night’s train. You bring the train-crew over to have a drink; then you fall asleep. You been sleeping ever since. Now you remember?” “Ah!” The puzzled look went out of Toppy’s eyes. “Now I remember. Row with Harvey Duncombe. Wanted me to drink two to his one. Stepped outside. Saw little train. Saw little girl. Stepped off big train, got on little train, and here I am. Fine little business.” “You went to sleep in the train coming up, the conductor told me,” volunteered the half-breed. “You told them you wanted to go as far as you could, so they took you up here to the end of the line. You remember now, eh, why you come here?” “Only too well, brother,” replied Toppy wearily. “I—I just came to see your beautiful little city.” The bartender laughed bitterly. “You come to a fine place. Didn’t you ever hear ‘bout Rail Head?” he asked. “I guess not, or you wouldn’t have come. This town’s the jumping-off place, that’s what she is. It’s the most God-forsaken, hopeless excuse for a town in the whole North Country. There’s only two kind of business here—shipping men out to Hell Camp and skinning them when they come back. That’s all. What you think of that for a fine town you’ve landed in, eh?” “Fine,” said Toppy. “I see you love it dearly, indeed.” The half-breed nodded grimly. “It’s all right for me; I own this place. Anybody else is sucker to come here, though. You ain’t a Bohunk fool, so I don’t think you come to hire out for Hell Camp. You just got too drunk, eh?”