t, and yet I've had a man in camp who's almost
a doctor."

"No, sir; a long way from that," protested Tim Walsh. "And, besides,
I've forgotten a whole lot that I used to know."

Tom rapidly explained how he had been treating Hazelton, according
to the directions in the little medicine book. Tim listened gravely.
"Was that all right, Tim?" Tom asked, breathlessly, when he had
finished.

"I should say about all right, sir."

"Tim, what shall I do next?"

"Do you want me to tell you, sir?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"Then I might as well do it, sir, as tell you," Tim drawled out.
"Mr. Reade, you're worn to pieces. You get into your bunk and
I'll take charge for an hour."

"I want to see you do the things you know how to do."

"Not a thing will I do, Mr. Reade, unless you get into your bunk
for an hour," declared Walsh, sturdily.

"Will you call me in an hour, if I lie down?"

"I will."

"You'll call me in an hour?"

"On my honor, Mr. Reade."

Tim Walsh thereupon bundled the young engineer into another bunk,
covered him up, and then watched until Tom Reade, utterly exhausted,
fell into a deep sleep that was more like a trance.

"But I didn't say in which hour I'd call him," muttered Walsh
under his breath, his eyes twinkling. Then he tip-toed over to
look at Harry Hazelton, who, also, was asleep. Through the whole
day Tom slept nor did the ex-Army nurse once quit the shack.

When dark came Tim Walsh had just finished lighting the lamp and
shading it when he turned to find Tom Reade glaring angrily into
his eyes.

"Tim, what does this treachery mean?" Reade questioned in a
hoarse whisper.

"It means, sir, that you had tired yourself out so that you were
no longer fit to nurse your partner. He was in bad hands, taking
his medicines and his care from a man as dog-tired as you were,
Mr. Reade. It also means, sir, that I've been looking after Mr.
Hazelton all day, and he's a bit better this evening. Him and
me had a short chat this afternoon, and you never heard us. Mr.
Hazelton went to sleep only twenty minutes ago. When he wakes
up you can feel his skin and take his pulse, and you'll find him
doing better."

"Tim, I know you meant it for the best, and that I ought to be
thankful to you," Tom murmured, "but, man, I've a good notion
to skin you alive!"

"You'd better not try anything like that, sir," grinned Walsh.
"Remember that I'm in charge here, now, and that you're only
a visitor. If you in