ertainty most disturbing to his mind and injurious
to his temper. Day by day reports came of the doctor's ceaseless toil
and unvarying self-sacrifice, the very magnitude of which made it
difficult for "Mexico" to accept it as being sincere.

"What's his game?" he kept asking himself more savagely, as the mystery
deepened. "What's in it for him? Is he after McKenty's job?"

One night the doctor came in from a horseback trip to a tie camp twelve
miles up the valley, wearied and soaked with the wet snow that had
been falling heavily all day. "Mexico" received him with a wrathful
affection.

"What the--ah--what makes you go out a night like this?" "Mexico" asked
him with indignation, struggling to check his profanity, which he had
come to notice the doctor disliked. "I can't get onto you. It's all just
d--, that is, cursed foolishness!"

"Look here, 'Mexico,' wait till I get these wet things off and I'll
tell you. Now listen," said the doctor, when he sat warm and dry before
"Mexico's" fire. "I've been wanting to tell you this for some time."
He opened his black bag and took out a New Testament which now always
formed a part of his equipment, and finding the place, read the story
of the two debtors. "Do you remember, 'Mexico,' the talk I gave you last
spring?" "Mexico" nodded. That talk he would not soon forget. "I had a
big debt on then. It was forgiven me. He did a lot for me that time,
and since then He has piled it up till I feel as if I couldn't live long
enough to pay back what I owe." Then he told "Mexico" in a low, reverent
tone, with shining eyes and thrilling voice, the story of Iola's going.
"That's why," he said, when he concluded his tale. "That was a great
thing He did for her and for me. And then, 'Mexico,' these poor chaps!
they have so little. Who cares for them? That's why I go out on a night
like this. And don't you think that's good enough?"

Then "Mexico" turned himself loose for five minutes and let off the
sulphurous emotion that had been collecting during the doctor's tale.
After he had become coherent again he said with slow emphasis:

"You've got me, Doc. Wipe your feet on me when you want."

"'Mexico,'" replied the doctor, "you know I don't preach at you. I
haven't, have I?"

"Blanked if--that is, no, you haven't."

"Well, you say I can have you. I'll take you right here. You are my
friend." He put out his hand, which "Mexico" gripped and held fast.
"But," continued the doctor, "I want t