yourself in your fever, you took me back on that lost trail that ended, as
we thought, in the grave. But we might have been mistaken. Is there
anything it would not be safe for you and me to speak of now? Do you know
any tie between men that should be closer than the tie between us? Any
safer place where a man could lay off the secret burdens of his life and
be himself for a little while--before the end answers all? I know you have
a secret. I believe that a share of it belongs to me."

"We are better off sometimes if we don't get all that belongs to us," said
John gratingly.

"It doesn't seem to be a matter of choice, does it? If you were not meant
to tell me--what you have partly told me already--where is there any
meaning in our being here at all? Let us have some excuse for this
senseless accident. Do you believe much in accidents? How foolish"--Paul
sighed--"for you and me to be afraid of each other! Two men who have
parted with everything but the privilege of speaking the truth!"

The packer raised himself in his bunk slowly, like one in pain. He looked
long at the listless figure crouching by the fire; then he sank back again
with a low groan. "What was it you heared me say? Come!"

"I can't give you the exact words. The words were nothing. Haven't you
watched the sparks blow up, at night, when the wind goes searching over
the ashes of an old camp-fire? It was the fever made you talk, and your
words were the sparks that showed where there had been fire once. Perhaps
I had no right to track you by your own words when you lay helpless, but I
couldn't always leave you. Now I'd like to have my share of that--whatever
it was--that hurt you so, at One Man Station."