Thereafter he remained silent and brooding.

Perhaps it was hatred for Ronicky that was growing in him, as the sense of disappointment increased, for Ronicky, after all, had kept him from reaching that girl when the train passed through Stillwater.

Perhaps, for all Ronicky knew, his bullet had ruined the happiness of two lives.

He shrugged that disagreeable thought away, and, reaching the hotel, he went straight up to the room of the sick man.
"Bill," he said gently, "have you been spending all your time hating me?
Is that what keeps you thin and glum?
Is it because you sit here all day blaming me for all the things that have happened to you ?" The dark flush and the uneasy flicker of Gregg's glance gave a sufficient answer.

Ronicky Doone sighed and shook his head, but not in anger.
"You don't have to talk," he said.