He's not such a fool as he looks, either, so far as that goes, but he's always got that sneaking, coyote sort of look, and whatever he does he does in that same way." "In other words," commented Patches thoughtfully, "poor Joe must have someone to depend on; taken alone he counts no more than a cipher." "That's it," said Phil.

"With somebody to feed him, and think for him, and take care of him, and be responsible for him, in some sort of a way, he makes almost one." "After all, Phil," said Patches, with bitter sarcasm, "poor Yavapai Joe is not so much different from hundreds of men that I know.

By their standards he should be envied." Phil was amazed at his companion's words, for they seemed to hint at something in the man's past, and Patches, so far as his reticence upon any subject that approached his own history, was always as silent as Yavapai Joe himself.
"What do you mean by that ?" Phil demanded.

"What sort of men do you mean ?" "I mean the sort that never do anything of their own free wills; the sort that have someone else to think for them, and feed them, and take care of them and take all the responsibility for what they do or do not do.

I mean those who are dependents, and those who aspire to be dependent.