drivers. When a passenger gave one of them a coin at the end of a day
of driving he put it into the common fund. When the fund had grown to
some size the two went to the saloon and stood before the bar drinking
until it was spent and then came back to sleep off their stupor on the
hay in the barn. After a prosperous week the hunchback occasionally
gave them a dollar for the fund.

Of the beer McGregor drank but one foaming glass. For all his idling
about Coal Creek he had never before tasted beer and it was strong and
bitter in his mouth. He threw up his head and gulped it then turned
and walked toward the rear of the stable to conceal the tears that the
taste of the stuff had forced into his eyes.

The two drivers sat on the bench and laughed. The drink they had given
Beaut was a horrible mess concocted by the laughing bartender at their
suggestion. "We will get the big fellow drunk and hear him roar," the
bartender had said.

As he walked toward the back of the stable a convulsive nausea seized
Beaut. He stumbled and pitched forward, cutting his face on the floor.
Then he rolled over on his back and groaned and a little stream of
blood ran down his cheek.

The two boys jumped up from the bench and ran toward him. They stood
looking at his pale lips. Fear seized them. They tried to lift him but
he fell from their arms and lay again on the stable floor, white and
motionless. Filled with fright they ran from the stable and through
Main Street. "We must get a doctor," they said as they hurried along,
"He is mighty sick--that fellow."