Loney led the horse to the water and let him drink; then, with a sorrowful look at Mr. Goldberg, whose aching brow was still pressed against the cool rock, he returned him to the stable and tied him in front of the hay. Poor little Loney did not know that Shoshone Pete had seen to the actual wants of the worn-out horse, but supposed it was what was customary at hotels. And it was Shoshone himself who had rubbed the tired horse down, given him a bedding of straw, which the half-starved animal had half-eaten before morning. Shoshone it was, now, who went to the suffering man and gave him a resounding slap on the shoulder, saying loudly: “Good-morning, pardner--I mean Mr. Wild Bill, the Bull-man.” “Der teuyfel!” “Why, what is the matter?” “Oh, it is de vorst sickness vot efer vos. I pe goin’ grazy! Den vot vill pecome of little Loney? Mr. Shoshone, vot is de most tangerous sickness of all?” “I don’t know.” “Neider do I, but I got it all right, und dot pirt is setting me mad!” “Oh, I’ll soon fix that,” said Shoshone, drawing his pistol, which action brought a cry from Morris. “Don’t shoot! don’t shoot! For Gott’s sake don’t make dot noise!” “Oh, I see; you don’t feel well this morning. Why don’t you try some of the hair of the dog that bit you?” With a gesture of distaste that spoke plainer than words, Morris refused, at which Shoshone laughed. Then Morris said innocently, but convincingly: “Mister, I gif you mein vort, dot dog didn’t pite me--he eat me all up!” “Well, what are you standing there suffering for? Come on into the saloon and get a snifter.” “For Gott’s sake don’t mention it! Dot vos mein first und it shall pe mein last. I vill die first--if I live. I vos come out here to find mein daughter, Dora, vot vos stolen from me--her olt fader--und I haf dot poor little Loney, und vill you dot I pecome a drinker like dot?” “Well, come on in and get some breakfast. You ate no dinner----” “Und I t’ink nefer again vill I eat.” As he mournfully spoke these words, the poor man took from his pocket a stump of a pencil and a piece of paper and began to write. Shoshone watched him a moment and then asked what he was doing. “I am writing my vill.” At the same time Morris kept brushing his hand before his eyes, as though tormented by flies, and at last he said: “Nefer dit I see cockroaches dot coult fly like dot. Dey comes right in your face!” “Oh, ah--there are no--that is just the effect of your headache. That will pass off in a little while. A cup of strong coffee----” “Nefer, nefer shall I eat again. I shall die here--und my poor Dora----” Here the unhappy man broke down utterly and wept scalding tears of such unfeigned sorrow that Shoshone was greatly touched. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked of the sorrowing man.