by dawn of the following morning.
Then, during Langford's absence on one of his rides, he loped his pony up
the river trail toward Ben Doubler's cabin.

CHAPTER XVII

DOUBLER TALKS

After the departure of the doctor Sheila entered the cabin and closed the
door, fastening the bars and drawing a chair over near the table. Doubler
seemed to be resting easier, though there was a flush in his cheeks that
told of the presence of fever. However, he breathed more regularly and
with less effort than before the coming of the doctor, and as a
consequence, Sheila felt decidedly better. At intervals during the night
she gave him quantities of the medicine which the doctor had left, but
only when the fever seemed to increase, forcing the liquid through his
lips. Several times she changed the bandages, and once or twice during the
night when he moaned she pulled her chair over beside him and smoothed his
forehead, soothing him. When the dawn came it found her heavy eyed and
tired.

She went to the river and procured fresh water, washed her hands and face,
prepared a breakfast of bacon and soda biscuit--which she found in a tin
box in a corner of the cabin, and then, as Doubler seemed to be doing
nicely, she saddled her pony and took a short gallop. Returning, she
entered the cabin, to find Doubler tossing restlessly.

She gave him a dose of the medicine--an extra large one--but it had little
effect, quieting him only momentarily. Evidently he was growing worse. The
thought aroused apprehension in her mind, but she fought it down and
stayed resolutely at the sick man's side.

Through the slow-dragging hours of the morning she sat beside him, giving
him the best care possible under the circumstances, but in spite of her
efforts the fever steadily rose, and at noon he sat suddenly up in the
bunk and gazed at her with blazing, vacuous eyes.

"You're a liar!" he shouted. "Dakota's square!"

Sheila stifled a scream of fear and shrank from him. But recovering, she
went to him, seizing his shoulders and forcing him back into the bunk. He
did not resist, not seeming to pay any attention to her at all, but he
mumbled, inexpressively:

"It ain't so, I tell you. He's just left me, an' any man which could talk
like he talked to me ain't--I reckon not," he said, shaking his head with
a vigorous, negative motion; "you're a heap mistaken--you ain't got him
right at all."

He was quiet for a time after this, but toward the middle o