Minky turned and gazed affectionately at the shelf. It was the pride of his store. He always kept it well dusted and dressed. The delicate wrappings and fancy labels always had a strong fascination for him. Then there were the curative possibilities of the contents of the inviting packages as set forth by the insistent "drummer" who sold them to him. "An elegant stock," he murmured. "Sort of concentrated health." Then he glanced round anxiously. "Your hosses ain't ailin'?" he inquired. "I got most everything fer hosses. Ther's embrocation, hoss iles, every sort of lin'ments. Hoss balls? Linseed?" The gambler shook his head. "You ain't got physic fer men-folk?" he inquired. "I sure have. But--but you ain't sick?" Minky eyed his friend narrowly. Bill's mouth twisted wryly. "I ain't jest sick," he replied. "But," he added hopefully, "you can't never be sure." Minky nodded. "That's so. I'd say you don't look a heap sick, though." "You sure don't," agreed Sandy. "But, as you sez, you can't never tell. Now, you buyin' ha'f Zip's claim makes--" His words died down to a thoughtful murmur. Bill's look was somehow discouraging as he pointed at the medicine. "What you got?" he demanded abruptly. "Why, most everything," said Minky. "Ther', you see that longish bottle? That's a dandy cough cure. Guess you ain't needin' that? No? Ah!" as Bill shook his head, "I didn't guess you'd a cough. Corns? Now, this yer packet is an elegant fixin' fer corns, soft an' hard. It jest kills 'em stone dead, sure. It's bully stuff, but 'tain't good fer eatin'. You ain't got corns?" he inquired, as Bill again shook his head. "Ah, seems a pity." He turned again to the shelf, determined, if possible, to suit his customer, and lifted down a number of packets and sealed bottles. "Now, here," he cried, holding up a dainty box tied up with a delicate-colored ribbon. For a moment his audience believed it to be candy, but he quickly undeceived them. "Now this yer is dandy truck, though I don't guess ther's a heap o' use fer it on Suffering Creek. It's fer softening alkali water. When the drummer told me that, I guessed to him ther wa'an't a heap o' water drunk in this camp. But he said it wa'an't fer drinkin' water; it was fer baths. I kind o' told him that wouldn't help the sale any, so he said it could be used fer washin'. Seein' he couldn't sell me any that way neither, he got riled an' give me a present of it, an' said he guessed Sufferin' Creek _did_ use water fer washing gold. Y'see, its price is a dollar an' a ha'f, but, seein' it's kind o' dead stock, you ken have it a present." Bill took it. "It's mine," he said. And Sandy watched him with some concern. "You--you ain't takin' a bath?" he inquired nervously. "Don't talk foolish," cried Bill, and turned again to his scrutiny of the shelf. "What else you got? Any stummick physic?"