"Will I die soon ?" Schulze reflected, rubbing his red-button nose with his stubby fingers.
When he spoke, his voice had a sad gentleness.

"You can bear hearing it.
You have the right to know." He leaned back, paused, said in a low tone: "Put your house in order, Mr.Ranger." Hiram's steadfast gray eyes met bravely the eyes of the man who had just read him his death warrant.

A long pause; then Hiram said "Thank you," in his quiet, calm way.
He took the prescriptions, went out into the street.

It looked strange to him; he felt like a stranger in that town where he had spent half a century--felt like a temporary tenant of that vast, strong body of his which until now had seemed himself.

And he--or was it the stranger within him ?--kept repeating: "Put your house in order.