"You withdraw Mrs. Dumphy's claim upon Mr. Dumphy?" he said, slowly. Colonel Starbottle did not verbally reply, but that gallant warrior allowed the facial muscles on the left side of his face to relax so that one eye was partially closed. "Yes, sir,--there is a matter of a few thousand dollars that--er--er--you understand, I am--er--er--personally responsible for." "That will never be claimed, Colonel Starbottle," said Arthur, smiling, "and I am only echoing, I am sure, the sentiments of the man most concerned, who is approaching us--Mr. Dumphy." CHAPTER VIII. IN WHICH THE FOOTPRINTS RETURN. Mr. Jack Hamlin was in very bad case. When Dr. Duchesne, who had been summoned from Sacramento, arrived, that eminent surgeon had instantly assumed such light-heartedness and levity toward his patient, such captiousness toward Pete, with an occasional seriousness of demeanour when he was alone, that, to those who knew him, it was equal to an unfavourable prognosis. Indeed, he evaded the direct questioning of Olly, who had lately constituted herself a wondrously light-footed, soft-handed assistant of Pete, until one day, when they were alone, he asked more seriously than was his wont if Mr. Hamlin had ever spoken of his relations, or if she knew of any of his friends who were accessible. Olly had already turned this subject over in her womanly mind, and had thought once or twice of writing to the Blue Moselle, but on the direct questioning of the doctor, and its peculiar significance, she recalled Jack's confidences on their midnight ride, and the Spanish beauty he had outlined; and so one evening, when she was alone with her patient, and the fever was low, and Jack lay ominously patient and submissive, she began--what the doctor had only lately abandoned--probing a half-healed wound. "I reckon you'd hev been a heap more comfortable ef this thing hed happened to ye down thar in San Antonio," said Olly. Jack rolled his dark eyes wonderingly upon his fair persecutor. "You know you'd hev had thet thar sweetheart o' yours--thet Mexican woman--sittin' by ye, instead o' me--and Pete," suggested the artful Olympia. Jack nearly leaped from the bed. "Do you reckon I'd hev rung myself in as a wandering cripple--a tramp thet hed got peppered--on a lady like _her_? Look yer, Olly," continued Mr. Hamlin, raising himself on his elbow, "if you've got the idea thet thet woman is one of them hospital sharps--one of them angels who waltz round a sick man with a bottle of camphor in one hand and a tract in the other--you had better disabuse your mind of it at once, Miss Conroy; take a back seat and wait for a new deal. And don't you go to talkin' of thet lady as my sweetheart--it's--it's--sacrilegious--and the meanest kind of a bluff."