t was noon when Harding returned to camp, ragged and exhausted, with
Clarke limping after him in an even more pitiable state. The latter
had suffered badly from the hurried march, but his conductor would
brook no delay and the grim hints he had been given encouraged him to
the utmost exertion he was capable of. Blake was alive, but when
Harding bent over him he feared that help had come too late. His skin
looked harsh and dry, his face had grown hollow, and his thick strong
hair had turned lank and was falling out. His eyes were vacant and
unrecognizing when he turned them upon Harding.

"Here's your patient," the American said to Clarke. "We expect you to
cure him, and you had better get to work at once." Then his face grew
troubled as he asked Benson: "How long has he been like that?"

"The last two days," said Benson. "I'm afraid he's very bad."

Harding sat down with a smothered groan. Every muscle seemed to ache,
he could scarcely hold himself upright, and his heart was heavy. He
would miss Blake terribly; it was hard to think of going on without
him, but he feared that this was inevitable. He was filled with a deep
pity for the helpless man, but after a few moments his weary face grew
stern. He had done all that he was able, and now Clarke, whom he
believed to be a man of high medical skill, must do his part. If he
were unsuccessful, it would be the worse for him.

"Had you much trouble?" Benson asked as he laid out a meal.

"No," said Harding; "I suppose I was fortunate, because the thing was
surprisingly easy. Of course, Clarke did not want to come."

"Then I don't see how you overcame his objections."

Harding broke into a dry smile. "In the kind of game I played with the
doctor your strength depends upon how much you're willing to lose, and
I put down all I had upon the table. That beat him, because he wasn't
willing to stake as much."

"You mean your life?" said Benson. "I've no doubt you were in some
danger, but was it so serious?"

"It would have been if I'd shot him, and I think he saw I meant that.
What's more, I may have to do so yet."

Harding's tone was quietly matter of fact, but Benson no longer
wondered at Clarke's submission. He had been a soldier and had faced
grave risks, but he was inclined to think that even before he had
weakened it by excess his nerve had never been so good as this city
drummer's.

"Well," he said, "I'm fond of Blake and recognize my debt to him,