e called a shore-perplexus punch, and 'twas like being kicked twice
by a mustang. He's playin' it low down on you, Curt. He ain't no
sicker'n I am. I hate to say it, but the runt's workin' you for range
and shelter."

The cattleman's ingenuous mind refused to entertain Chad's view of the
case, and when, later, he came to apply the test, doubt entered not
into his motives.

One day, about noon, two men drove up to the ranch, alighted, hitched,
and came in to dinner; standing and general invitations being the
custom of the country. One of them was a great San Antonio doctor,
whose costly services had been engaged by a wealthy cowman who had
been laid low by an accidental bullet. He was now being driven back to
the station to take the train back to town. After dinner Raidler took
him aside, pushed a twenty-dollar bill against his hand, and said:

"Doc, there's a young chap in that room I guess has got a bad case of
consumption. I'd like for you to look him over and see just how bad he
is, and if we can do anything for him."

"How much was that dinner I just ate, Mr. Raidler?" said the doctor
bluffly, looking over his spectacles. Raidler returned the money to
his pocket. The doctor immediately entered McGuire's room, and the
cattleman seated himself upon a heap of saddles on the gallery, ready
to reproach himself in the event the verdict should be unfavourable.

In ten minutes the doctor came briskly out. "Your man," he said
promptly, "is as sound as a new dollar. His lungs are better than
mine. Respiration, temperature, and pulse normal. Chest expansion four
inches. Not a sign of weakness anywhere. Of course I didn't examine
for the bacillus, but it isn't there. You can put my name to the
diagnosis. Even cigarettes and a vilely close room haven't hurt him.
Coughs, does he? Well, you tell him it isn't necessary. You asked if
there is anything we could do for him. Well, I advise you to set him
digging post-holes or breaking mustangs. There's our team ready.
Good-day, sir." And like a puff of wholesome, blustery wind the doctor
was off.

Raidler reached out and plucked a leaf from a mesquite bush by the
railing, and began chewing it thoughtfully.

The branding season was at hand, and the next morning Ross Hargis,
foreman of the outfit, was mustering his force of some twenty-five men
at the ranch, ready to start for the San Carlos range, where the work
was to begin. By six o'clock the horses were all saddled, the grub