coulees between, lay Dry Lake; and in
Dry Lake lived the one man in the country who might save Patsy.

"Old Dock" was a land-mark among old-timers. The oldest pioneer found
Dock before him among the Indians and buffalo that ran riot over the
wind-brushed prairie where now the nation's beef feeds quietly. Why he
was there no man could tell; he was a fresh-faced young Frenchman with
much knowledge of medicine and many theories, and a reticence
un-French. From the Indians he learned to use strange herbs that
healed almost magically the ills of man; from the rough out-croppings
of civilization he learned to swallow vile whiskey in great gulps, and
to thirst always for more.

So he grew old while the West was yet young, until Dry Lake, which grew
up around him, could not remember him as any but a white-bearded,
stooped, shuffling old man who spoke a queer jargon and was always just
getting drunk or sober. When he was sober his medicines never failed
to cure; when he was drunk he could not be induced to prescribe, so
that men trusted his wisdom at all times and tolerated his infirmities,
and looked upon him with amused proprietorship.

When Weary galloped up the trail which, because a few habitations are
strewn with fine contempt of regularity upon either side, is called by
courtesy a street, his eyes sought impatiently for the familiar,
patriarchal figure of Old Dock. He felt that minutes were worth much
and that if he would save Patsy he must cut out all superfluities, so
he resolutely declined to remember that cold, foamy beer refreshes one
amazingly after a long, hot ride in the dust and the wind.

Upon the porch of Rusty Brown's place men were gathered, and it was
evident even at a distance that they were mightily amused. Weary
headed for the spot and stopped beside the hitching pole. Old Dock
stood in the center of the group and his bent old figure was trembling
with rage. With both hands he waved aloft his coat, on which was
plastered a sheet of "tangle-foot" fly-paper.

"Das wass de mean treeck!" he was shouting. "I don'd do de harm wis no
mans. I tend mine business, I buy me mine clothes. De mans wass do
dees treeck, he buy me new clothes--you bet you! Dass wass de mean--"

"Say, Dock," broke in Weary, towering over him, "you dig up some dope
for tin-can poison, and do it quick. Patsy's took bad."

Old Dock looked up at him and shook his shaggy, white beard. "Das wass
de mean treeck," he repeated