"How do you do, gentlemen?" he said, smiling. "I see you’re quite busy, Marshal, which seems to be a habit of yours. I happened to have a patient out this way, down on the lower fork, and while I was in his vicinity I thought I would drop in and compliment Blascom for his care of Jake. While the efficient treatment he first received undoubtedly saved his life, Blascom’s nursing comes in for well-earned praise. He is still a sick man, although out of danger. I hope you will disregard our former conversation, so far as my part of it is concerned, Marshal. Good day to you all," and wheeling, he rode up a break in the creek bank and slowly became lost to sight among the bowlders and timber. Sinful had watched both men carefully while the doctor spoke, and now he covertly glanced at the marshal, who was gazing after the departing physician. Then he looked at Blascom, and from him to his own, disreputable partner. "Come on, Hank," he said. "If any of these gold thieves start swappin’ claims, we’ll play ’em a smart tune for ’em to dance to. There’s shore been a-plenty of lives saved on this crick plumb recent--our own, mebby, among ’em. An’ who do you reckon yo’re a-starin’ at?" "You, you pore ol’ fool!" retorted Hank. He blew out a bleached cud, rammed in a fresh one, nodded at Blascom and the contemplative marshal, and followed his impatient partner toward their packs and guns. Tex slowly turned and looked after them. "Hey, Sinful!" he called. "You still makin’ coffee in old tin cans? If you are, you want to watch ’em close on account of sand gettin’ in ’em!" Sinful nudged his companion, stopped, scratched his head, and then grinned. "Don’t have to use ’em _now_. We got all our traps along, an’ th’ old coffeepot is with ’em, kivver an’ all. Anyways, _we_ don’t mind a little sand once in awhile--_do_ we, Hank?" "No, sir, by glory!" cried Hank. "Not no more, we don’t, a-tall!" *CHAPTER XVIII* *"HERE LIES THE ROAD TO ROME!"*