drew for their first quarrel, remained with his long, bony chin dropped upon his breast and followed the movements of Andrew Lanning with restless eyes.
The others were glad to see him, as Andrew could tell at a glance, but also they were a bit troubled, and by degrees he made out the reason. Strange as it seemed, they regretted that he had not been able to make his break across the mountains. His presence made them more impregnable than they had ever been under the indomitable Allister, and yet, more than the aid of his righting hand, they would have welcomed the tidings of a man who had broken away from the shadow of the law and "made good." It was the first time that Andrew observed this quality among the outlaws; yet he learned later that even the tramps of the cross-continental road do not welcome recruits to their ranks. Once a man has taken the long step that places him beyond the reach of good society, he is received with open arms, but as long as there is a chance of putting him back on his feet again there are few, indeed, that will not contribute money and cunning to that purpose. There is, of course, a shade of selfishness in it. For each of the fallen wishes to feel that his exile is self-terminable, and the most notorious criminal will thrill to a story of regeneration.
And therefore Andrew, telling his story to them in brief, found that they were not by any means filled with unmixed pleasure. Joe Clune, with his bright brown hair of youth and his lined, haggard face of worn middle age, summed up their sentiments at the end of Andrew's story: "You're what we need with us, Lanning. You and Allister will beat the world, and it means high times for the rest of us, but God pity you—that's all!"
The pause that followed this solemn speech was to
