They tramped across the claim until they came in sight of Hun Shanklin's tent. Its flap was blowing in the wind. "The old rascal came over to make friends with me," said Slavens. "He claimed that he never lifted his hand against me. There's his horse, trying to make it down the slope to the river. I'll have to catch the beast and take that rope off. "There's a man over there!" Agnes exclaimed. "Look! There among the rocks to the right of the tent! I wonder who it is?" Slavens looked where she pointed, just as the man disappeared among the rocks. "It's the Governor!" she whispered. "Looked like his coat," he agreed. "Do you suppose he's----" "Trying to locate old Shanklin's mine," he said. "That's what he's after. If there's copper on that piece the Governor will get it, even if his son doesn't live to share with him. The difference of a figure or two in the description of a piece of land might be revised on the books, if one had the influence." The doctor for whom Governor Boyle had sent arrived on the afternoon train from Cheyenne and reached the camp before sunset. He spoke in the highest terms of the manner in which Dr. Slavens had proceeded, and declared that it would be presumptuous meddling for him, or anyone else, to attempt to advise in the case. Agnes heard his commendation with triumph in her eyes, and Mrs. Boyle gave Dr. Slavens her blessing in a tearful look. The doctor from Cheyenne took up his instrument-case and held out his hand with a great deal more respect in his bearing toward the unknown practitioner than he had shown upon his arrival. "On vacation here?" he asked, puzzled to find any other excuse for so much ability running wild among the rocks in that bleak place. "Something like that," answered Slavens noncommittally. "When you're passing through Cheyenne, stop off and see me," giving Slavens a respectful farewell. Dr. Slavens advanced several points in the appraisement of Governor Boyle, although, to do the Governor justice, he had seen from the beginning that the wandering physician was a master. Boyle had been weighing men for what they were worth, buying them and selling them, for too many years to place a wrong bet. He told Slavens that unlimited capital was back of him in his fight for Jerry's life, and that he had but to demand it if anything was wanted, no matter what the cost. Dr. Slavens told him bluntly that his son was in a fix where one man's money would go as far as another's to get him clear, and that it had very little weight in the other end of the scales against the thing they were standing in front of, face to face. "Save him to me, Doctor! For God's sake save him!" begged the old man, his face bloodless, the weight of his unshored years collapsing upon him and bowing him pitifully.