I'm going; there's nothing for any of us to do now, until after I see Christie.

You remain here! Do you understand ?--remain here.

Damn me, if that drunken fool isn't waking up." There was a rattling of the rickety bed, and then the sound of Willoughby's voice, thick from liquor.
"Almighty glad see you, Bart--am, indeed.

Want money--Bill an' I both want money--can't drink without money--can't eat without money--shay, when you goin' stake us ?" "I'll see you again in the morning, Fred," returned the other briefly.
"Go on back to sleep." "Will when I git good an' ready--go sleep, stay wake, just as I please--don't care damn what yer do--got new frien' now." "A new friend?
Who ?" Hawley spoke with aroused interest.
"Oh, he's all right--he's mighty fine fellow--come in wisout in--invitation--ol' friend my sister--called--called her Hope--you fool, Bart Hawley, think my sister Christie--Christie--damfino the name--my sister, Hope--don't want yer money--my--my new friend, he 'll stake me--he knows my sister--Hope." The gambler grasped the speaker, shaking him into some slight semblance of sobriety.
"Now, look here, Willoughby, I want the truth, and mean to have it," he insisted.

"Has some one been in here while Scott was gone ?" "Sure--didn't I just tell yer ?--friend o' Hope's." "Who was he?
Speak up! I want the name!" There was a faint gurgling sound, as though the gambler's vise-like fingers were at the boy's throat; a slight struggle, and then the choked voice gasped out: "Let up! damn yer! He called himself Jack Keith." The dead silence which ensued was broken only by heavy breathing.