"You understand, Governor," said Dr. Slavens gravely, searching the old man's face with steady eyes, "that there is no ground for good feeling or friendship between your son and me?" The Governor nodded, averting his face, as if the acknowledgment gave him pain or shame. "And in case that everything should not turn out to the happiest conclusion for him, I should not want to stand the chance of blame." "Quite sensible, but unnecessarily cautious, I tell you," the Governor replied. "I have done all that a better surgeon could have done," pursued the doctor, "and I am quite willing to go ahead and do all that can be done until you can bring another physician here, to relieve me, or at least satisfy you that I have not allowed any feeling of man to man to stand between physician and patient." "Very well; I will telegraph to Cheyenne for a physician," agreed the Governor, "since it is your wish. But I am entirely satisfied with, and trustful of you, sir. That I desire you to understand plainly." Dr. Slavens thanked him. "I shall send for the other physician to act merely in an advisory capacity, and in no manner to relieve you of the case unless you desire to be relieved. But I think it will be to your interest to stand by me. I feel that I am under a certain obligation to you, more especially to Miss Gates, for my son's----" "We will not discuss that, if you please," Dr. Slavens interrupted. "At least I will stand by what I said to you a little while back," the Governor said; "that is, in the matter of remuneration, if you pull him through." "All of that in its proper place," said the doctor. "I am going back to Comanche now to send for the boy's mother," the Governor announced, "and telegraph to Cheyenne for the doctor of whom I spoke. I have known him for many years. I'll have some more tents and camp-supplies sent out, and anything that you stand in need of which can be procured in Comanche." Dr. Slavens gave him a list of articles needed in the patient's case, and the Governor rode away. The undertaker from Comanche arrived a little later, and took Hun Shanklin's body up from the ground. When his wagon, on its return to Comanche, had passed the tent where Agnes was trying to sleep, she got up and joined Dr. Slavens. "I couldn't sleep," she explained. "Every time I shut my eyes I could see that poor old gambler's body lying there with the coat over his face!" "I don't feel either pity or pain in his case," said the doctor; "or, when it comes to that, for the other one, either." "Well, you couldn't have prevented it, anyway," she sighed. "And wouldn't have if I could," he declared. "I looked on them as one poison fighting another, as we set them to do in the human system. When one overcomes the other, and the body throws them both out, health follows." "Do you think Jerry will recover?" "There's a chance for him," he replied.