t
it'll be worth his while to make a good job of it." He paused,
awaiting permission to carry out his plan.

The little woman explained gravely: "Doctors never bet on their cases,
Bill. It isn't that they won't back their judgment. But because it
isn't considered proper. Doctor Mallory is doing all any mortal man
can do. He's a wonderfully good doctor, and it was Len Christie,
himself, that recommended him."

The cowboy's eyes lighted: "It was? Well, then, mebbe he's all right.
I never had no time fer preachers 'til I know'd Len. But, what he says
goes with me--he's square. I don't go much on no doctor, though.
They're all right fer women, mebbe, an' kids. I believe all the Old
Man needs right now to fix him up good as ever is a big stiff jolt of
whisky an' bitters." The cowboy rode away, muttering and shaking his
head, but not until he was well out of sight round the corner of the
house did the little woman with the gray hair smile.

"I hope Doctor Mallory will understand," she said, a trifle
anxiously, "I have some rather trying experiences with my boys, and if
Bill has gone and insulted the doctor I'll have to get Jack Pierce to
go to town and explain."

"This Bill seems to just adore Mr. Samuelson," ventured Patty. "Why
his voice was almost--almost reverent when he said 'the Old Man.'"

The little lady nodded: "Yes, Bill thinks there's no one like him. You
see, Bill shot a man, one day when--he was not quite himself. Over in
the Blackfoot country, it was, and Vil Holland knew the facts in the
case, and he rode over and told Mr. Samuelson all about it, and they
both went and talked it over with the prosecuting attorney, and with
old Judge Nevers, with the result that they agreed to give the boy a
chance. So Mr. Samuelson brought him here. That was five years ago.
Bill is foreman of this outfit now, and our other three riders are
boys that were headed the same way Bill was. Vil Holland brought one
of them over, and Bill and Mr. Samuelson picked up the other two--and,
if I do say it myself," she declared, proudly, "there isn't an outfit
in Montana that can boast a more capable or loyal, or a straighter
quartet of riders than this one."

As Patty listened she understood something of what was behind the
words of Thompson and Len Christie, when they had spoken that day of
"Old Man" Samuelson. But, there was something she did not understand.
And that something was--Vil Holland. Everybody liked him, everybody
spoke