wish; for, when one day his business took him to the Fort,
the stage brought a stranger asking the way to Mr. Macgregor's house,
and immediately Ike undertook to convoy him thither. It was The Don.

Shock's shout of welcome did Ike good, but the meeting between the two
men no one saw. After the first warm greeting Shock began to be aware
of a great change in his friend. He was as a man whose heart has been
chilled to the core, cold, hard, irresponsive. Toward Shock himself The
Don was unchanged in affection and admiration, but toward all the world
he was a different man from the one Shock had known in college days.

In Shock's work he was mildly interested, but toward all that stood for
religion he cherished a feeling of bitterness amounting to hatred.
True, out of respect he attended Shock's services, but he remained
unmoved through all; so that, after the first joy in his friend's
companionship, the change in him brought Shock a feeling of pain, and
he longed to help him.

"We will have to get him to work," he said to the doctor, to whom he
had confided The Don's history in part, not omitting the great grief
that had fallen upon him.

"A wise suggestion," replied the doctor, who had been attracted by his
young brother in the profession, "a wise suggestion. This country,
however, is painfully free from all endemic or epidemic diseases."

"Well, doctor, you know we ought to get that hospital going in the
Pass. Let us talk it over with him."

At the first opportunity Shock set forth his plans for the physical and
moral redemption of the lumbermen and miners of the Pass.

"I have seen the most ghastly cuts and bruises on the chaps in the
lumber camps," he said, "and the miners are always blowing themselves
up, and getting all sorts of chest troubles, not to speak of mountain
fever, rheumatism, and the like. There is absolutely no place for them
to go. Hickey's saloon is vile, noisy, and full of bugs. Ugh! I'll
never forget the night I put in there. I can feel them yet. And
besides, Hickey has a gang about him that make it unsafe for any man to
go there in health, much less in sickness. Why, the stories they tell
are perfectly awful. A fellow goes in with his month's pay. In one
night his fifty or sixty dollars are gone, no one knows how. The poor
chap is drunk, and he cannot tell. When a prospector comes down from
the hills and sells a prospect for a good figure, from a hundred to
five hundred dollars, and sometime