"You are the derndest fool I ever run across--but at that you're a good
scout too," he informed Frank. "You sober up now, like I said. You ought
to know better 'n to act the way you've been acting. I'm sure ashamed
of you, Frank. Adios--I'm going to hit the trail for camp." With that
he pulled the door shut and walked away, with that same circumspect
exactness in his stride which marks the drunken man as surely as does a
stagger.
He remembered what it was that had brought him to town--which is more
than most men in his condition would have done. He went to the pest
office and inquired for mail, got what proved to be the assayer's
report, and went on. He bought half a dozen bananas which did not
remind him of that night when he had waited on the Oakland pier for the
mysterious Foster, though they might have recalled the incident vividly
to mind had he been sober. He had been wooing forgetfulness, and for the
time being he had won.
Walking up the steep, winding trail that led to Nelson Flat cleared a
little his fogged brain. He began to remember what it was that he had
been fighting to forget. Marie's face floated sometimes before him, but
the vision was misty and remote, like distant woodland seen through
the gray film of a storm. The thought of her filled him with a vague
discomfort now when his emotions were dulled by the terrific strain
he had wilfully put upon brain and body. Resentment crept into the
foreground again. Marie had made him suffer. Marie was to blame for this
beastly fit of intoxication. He did not love Marie--he hated her. He
did not want to see her, he did not want to think of her. She had done
nothing for him but bring him trouble. Marie, forsooth! (Only, Bud put
it in a slightly different way.) Halfway to the flat, he met Cash walking down the slope where the trail
seemed tunneled through deep green, so thick stood the young spruce.
Cash was swinging his arms in that free stride of the man who has
learned how to walk with the least effort. He did not halt when he
saw Bud plodding slowly up the trail, but came on steadily, his keen,
blue-gray eyes peering sharply from beneath his forward tilted hat brim.
He came up to within ten feet of Bud, and stopped.
"Well!" He stood eyeing Bud appraisingly, much as Bud had eyed Frank a
couple of hours before. "I was just starting out to see what had become
of you," he added, his voice carrying the full weight of reproach that
the words only hinted at.
"Well, get an eyeful, if that's what you come for. I'm here--and
lookin's cheap." Bud's anger flared at the disapproval he read in Cash's
eyes, his voice, the set of his lips.