the miners followed the doctor as though all depended upon
him.

They had come to almost revere this handsome, stern, mysterious man who
had come to dwell among them, yet seemed so well fitted to adorn a far
different life.

His life was as a sealed book to them, yet his skill as physician and
surgeon was great, his generosity unbounded, and his nerve and daring
far above those whom he had been forced to meet in deadly encounter.

He had made his home in a snugly built cabin under the shelter of a
cliff within easy walk of the hotel, where he took his meals.

He had fitted his frontier home with an extravagance and comfort that
was surprising, and had in a cabin near several as fine horses as could
be found among the mining-camps, with a Chinese servant to look after
them and his wants.

The doctor hastily dismounted, called to the Chinaman to throw his
saddle upon another horse and look after the pack-animal, entered the
cabin for a few moments, and before Landlord Larry and his party were a
couple of miles away was in rapid pursuit.

He did not spare his horse, and overtaking the crowd of half a hundred
miner-horsemen, he was greeted with a cheer, which he acknowledged by
gracefully raising his sombrero.

Riding to the front of the column he took his place by the side of
Landlord Larry, and set a faster pace than that at which they had been
going.

"You say that Dave Dockery was able to write a note, landlord?"

"Yes, I handed it to you to-day."

"I thrust it into my pocket unread," and Doctor Dick now glanced over
the note as he rode along. "I fear he is too far gone, Larry, for if he
had been able he would have come into the camp. I will ride still
faster, for every moment counts with a badly wounded man, and you see I
am mounted on my racer."

"Push on, do, Doc, and I'll follow with the men as fast as I can," cried
the landlord.

With a word to Racer, the horse was off like an arrow, and fairly flew
up and down hill along the rugged trail to reach the scene of the
tragedy and lend aid to the wounded driver.

At last the coach came in sight, and the coming miners were yet all of
two miles behind. The four coach-horses, still attached to the pole,
stood where they had been left by their driver, while the wheel-horse
shot by the road-agent lay where he had fallen.

Near the coach, to one side, and not twenty paces from where Bud Benton
had been killed, lay the form of Dave Dockery.

Throwing himsel