When it became light enough I explored the old house, finding nothing but rags and old papers. There was no water in it and washing was out of the question. I gathered up an armful of the rags and papers, making a pallet of them by a window upstairs in a front room, where I could look out on the street. I sat down on the pallet and began to think things over. It was the first good chance since I had left my father. I heartily wished myself back with him. If this was adventure I wanted no more of it. I was done with it. It had brought me to this. Tired, hungry, bloody, afraid to go to sleep even if I could, lest I should be found and dragged off to jail and surely convicted. Smiler was dead. I had no ties to bind me to the road. Yes, I would get out of this mess somehow and go back to my father. I was sorry for poor Smiler and would have stayed with him on the road, but now it was different. I felt no remorse for any of the things we had done. I wasn’t sorry. I didn’t even think they were wrong. That phase of it never entered my mind. Then I fell to thinking of Smiler’s tragic end; trying to puzzle it out: Why the woman shrieked, why the house remained so dark and silent, and why I wasn’t shot when I went to his assistance. There was no answer to it all. I felt easier in my mind now that I had decided to quit the road and go home, and longed for the night to come when I could leave my hiding place and wash the blood off my hands and face and get fresh clothes. As the day wore on, feeling more secure, I stretched out on my bed of rags and paper and tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come to me. Later, in the afternoon, I removed my coat and shoes and managed to doze fitfully till evening. When it was dark enough to walk through the streets safely I left the house and made my way to a hot sulphur spring that gushed out of a hillside a mile away. There I stripped and scrubbed myself as best I could in the dark, and without soap. My clothes were stiff with dried blood. I threw the shirt and underwear away, put my handkerchief about my neck, and, buttoning my coat, started off in search of a store where I could get a new outfit. Since the night Smiler stole the coat for me we had never allowed ourselves to get flat broke. With all his passion for gambling he would hold on to a few dollars. With the money I found on him and my own, I counted up thirty dollars. His watch wasn’t worth two dollars, a cheap one he bought in San Francisco. I kept it as a memento. There was nothing else of value in his pockets. In a few minutes I found one of the many little general stores that flourished in Salt Lake at that time, and purchased a suit, the cheapest one there, for twelve dollars, and a fifty-cent shirt. I went back to the spring with my bundle, where I donned the cheap bullswool suit and threw my good one away. Tired and hungry, I crawled aboard a street car citybound from the sulphur springs.