The second trip to the cañon was, in every way, like the first except that it was made more quickly. When the clearing was reached and the doctor’s eyes were unbound he saw that there was no patch of light beyond the low shanty. “Didn’t dare leave a lamp,” explained the man with the scar as he cautiously opened the door. After he had peered in; listening, he entered quietly and struck a match. The sick man was on the floor, stretched prone. His eyes were wide, but unseeing. His breathing was laboured. They lifted him gently and laid him on the bed. Then the doctor, coat off, once more began his ministering, while the man with the scar seated himself on a bench by the door and smoked. The doctor paid the other no attention, but apparently gave his whole thought to his patient. Nevertheless, as he worked he kept on the alert for sounds, and, when his back was turned toward his guard, examined the wall against which stood the head of the bed. He noticed that which made him certain that the shanty had a second, if a very small, room. Two of the upright foot-wide boards of the wall had been sawed across at a height of six feet from the floor. A few moments later he purposely dropped the cork of a bottle. As he stooped to feel about for it he gave a quick look at the lower ends of the sawed boards. Unlike the others in the wall, they cleared the floor by half an inch. It was probable that they formed a narrow, blind door; that the wall itself was a partition. He determined to be certain about it. “Fetch me some right cold water,” he said to the man with the scar. For a moment the other remained seated and made no answer. Then, “All right,” he said reluctantly and, picking up a square kerosene can that had been fitted with a handle, went out. The doctor waited, his eyes on his patient, his ears strained for the sound of vanishing footsteps. He heard none. The other was doubtless just outside, watching. The doctor walked to the table, took a square of prepared plaster from his case and, having turned the light down a little, laid the plaster upon the top of the globe. The light went out. He stepped swiftly to the head of the bed and put a hand against the blind door. It swung inward a foot or more, then back into place again. “Here!” The threatening voice was at the outside door, which opened and closed with a bang. “What’re you trying to do?” The doctor took one long stride in the direction of the speaker. “Got a match?” he inquired innocently. “That blamed lamp went out.” The other muttered and struck a match. When its light flashed the doctor was standing beside the table, the square of plaster in one hand. “You ’tend to business!” warned the man with the scar. His thin lips were parted in a snarl.