s Dianny," the little man suggested softly, "that doc.
feller said mebbe he'd give him three days. It's a real long spell.
Seems to me you'll need to be up an' around come that time."

"Oh, I shall be 'up and around,' Joe."

The grizzled old head shook doubtfully, and he moved away from his
trough, drying his hands, and came over to where she was standing.

"Say, I jest can't sleep noways. I'm like that, I guess. I git spells.
I wus kind o' thinkin' mebbe I'd set around like. A good night's slep
'ud fix you right. I've heerd tell as folks kind o' influences their
patiences some. You bein' tired, an' sleppy, an' miser'ble, now mebbe
that's jest wot's keppin' him back----"

Diane shook her head. She saw through his round-about subterfuge, and
its kindliness touched her.

"No, no, Joe," she said almost tenderly. "Not on your life. You would
give me your last crust if you were starving. You are doing all, and
more than any one else would do for me, and I will accept nothing
further."

"You're figgerin' wrong," he retorted quite harshly. "'Tain't fer you.
No, no, it's fer him. Y' see we're kind o' dependin' on him, Arizona
an' me----"

"What for?" the girl asked quietly.

"Wal, y' see--wal--it's like this. He's goin' to be a rancher. Yes,
don't y' see?" he asked, with a pitiful attempt at a knowing leer.

"No, I don't."

"Say, mebbe Arizona an' me'll git a nice little job--a nice little
job. Eh?"

"You are talking nonsense, and you know it."

"Eh? What?"

The little man stood abashed at the girl's tone.

"You're only saying all this to get me to sleep to-night, instead of
sitting up. Well, I'm not going to. You thinking of mercenary things
like that. Oh, Joe, it's almost funny."

Joe's face flushed as far as it was capable of flushing.

"Wal," he said, "I jest thought ther' wa'n't no use in two o' us
settin' up."

"Nor is there. I'm going to do it. You've made me feel quite fresh
with your silly talk."

"Ah, mebbe. Guess I'll swep up."

Diane took the hint and went up-stairs, her eyes brimming with tears.
In her present state of unhappiness Joe's utter unselfishness was more
than she could bear.

She took her place at the bedside, determined to sit there as long as
she could keep awake, afterward she would adopt a "sentry-go" in the
passage. For an hour she battled with sleep. She kept her eyes open,
but her senses were dull and she passed the time in a sort of dream, a
nasty, fanciful dream, in w