Mr. Ellsworth looked at him a bit keenly; for, after all, he was not a bad judge of men.  “How long has that bottle been there?” asked he, abruptly.

“Oh, a couple of years, maybe.”

“And you’ve never opened it?”

“No, why should I?  You hadn’t come yet.  Of course, I knew you’d be along some day.  I kept it to drink to your very good health, Mr. Ellsworth—­the health of the man who told me not to come around his house—­told me I was an unsettled ne’er-do-well, and not suitable company for his—­why, I don’t think I have any corkscrew at all.”  His voice was slow, but harder now in quality.

Ellsworth sat on the chair, the bottle in his hand hanging between his knees.  He looked at Dan Anderson steadily.  “You’ve got me guessing in a good many ways,” he said; “I don’t know why you came here—­”

“No?”

“Nor how you live, nor what encouragement or prospects you find here.  For instance, about how much did you make last year in your business?”

“My law practice?  Oh, you mean down at the county-seat?  There is no law court here.  How much did the boys pay me?”

“Yes.”

“Two hundred and sixty-eight dollars and seventy-five cents.”

“What?”

“Oh, I know it’s a heap of money; but I made it.”

“Enough for tobacco money!”

“Sir,” said Dan Anderson, “more.  I ate frequent.  Why, sir, did you ever stop to think that our total circulating medium here is only three hundred dollars?  I had almost all of it one time or another.  Now, not doubting your intentions in the least, did you ever come that near to corralling the whole visible supply of cash in your own town?  Moreover, I am attorney for the men who own the coal-mines.  I’m the lawyer for both the gold mills.  We’ve got one or two mines here, and I’m in.  Besides, I’ve just got the law business from Pitzer Chisum, down on the Seven Rivers, He’s got maybe a hundred thousand head of cattle.  Now, I’m going to rob Pitzer, because he needs it.  He’s got money scandalous.”

Mr. Ellsworth put the bottle down on the floor, and sat up on the chair with his hands in his pockets, wondering.  “But why?” he demanded sternly, “why?  What are you doing out here?  Why have you thrown away your life?  Come—­you’re a bright young man, and you—­”

“Friend,” said Dan Anderson, with a sudden cold quality in his voice, “I think that’ll about do.  I am no brighter than I was a few years ago.”

“But this is no place to live.”

“Why isn’t it?  It takes a man to live here.  Do you reckon you could qualify?” The older man raised his head with a snort, but Dan Anderson stood looking at him calmly.  “Now let me tell you one thing,” said he.  “If you heard of our coal-mines here through me, at least I didn’t ask you to come out here, and I didn’t ask you to bring anybody along with you.  I’ve played fair with you.  You don’t come here to do me any favor, do you?”