Doctor Barnes himself was engaged in bringing up his correspondence. He was his own typist, and at the time was engaged in picking out letter after letter upon a small typewriter with which he had not yet acquired familiarity. He was occupied with two letters of importance. One was going to a certain medical authority of the University from which he himself had received his degree. It contained a certain hypothetical question regarding diseases of the eye, upon which he himself at the time did not feel competent to pass. The second letter was one to his new Chief, an officer of the reclamation engineers, at Washington. He wore again to-day the uniform of a Major of the Army. The wheels of officialdom were revolving. The public quality of this enterprise was well understood. That lawless elements were afoot in that region was a fact also well recognized. To have this dam go out now would be an injury to the peace measures of the country. Soldiers were coming to protect it, and the soldiers must have a commander. In the hurried times of war, when there was not opportunity always for exactness, majors were made overnight when needful out of such material as the Government found at hand. It might have used worse than that of Allen Barnes to-day and here. "Oh, there _you_ are," said he at length, turning around and finding Sim Gage standing in the door. "What brought you down here? Anything gone wrong?" "Well, I ain't sure, Doc," said Sim Gage, "but like enough. One thing, my knee hurts me considerable." In reality he was sparring for time. "But you're dressed up for a soldier?" "Yes. Sit down there on the operating chair," said Doctor Barnes, tersely. "We'll look it over. Anything happen to it?" "Why, nothing much," said Sim. "I hurt it a little when I was getting in the mail wagon yesterday evening--busted her open. So last night, when I was going to bed, I took a needle and thread and sewed her up again." "What's that? Sewed it up?" "Yes, I got a needle and some black patent thread. Do you reckon she'll hold all right now, Doctor?" Doctor Barnes was standing, scissors in hand, about to rip open the trouser leg. "No, you don't!" said Sim. "Them's my best pants. You just go easy now, and don't you cut them none a-tall. Wait till I take 'em off." The doctor bent over the wounded member. "You put in a regular button-hole stitch," said he, grinning, "didn't you? About three stitches would have been plenty. You put in about two dozen--and with black thread! Like enough poisoned again." "Well," said Sim, "I didn't want to take no chances of her breaking open again."