“That’s fine,” exclaimed the doctor. “At one time you were a pretty tough case. I thought we’d have the trouble of a funeral in camp. Swell affairs they are, here. But say, did you ever see a funeral in Phœnix? Why, they _trots_ ’em in Phœnix!” Loring expressed his admiration for such a spirit of activity, while the doctor was propping him up in bed, and adjusting the bandages. “I guess you won’t have to work for some days,” remarked the doctor. “It is lucky you did one day’s work, as it just pays for your hospital fee and medicine.” “Hard luck, doctor,” laughed Stephen, “but that had to go for traveling expenses.” Hearing light footsteps on the porch outside, the doctor went to the door. Loring heard him answer some question. “Well, Miss Cameron, I guess it won’t kill him to see you. It may even be good for him. Come in by all means!” Loring looked up and saw framed in the doorway, like a picture, a girl frank of eyes and fresh of coloring. A little Scotch cap was perched on the waves of her tawny hair. Her gown was of dark blue, relieved at neck and throat by bands of white, and girdled by a ribbon of red and blue plaid. Across her arms lay a sheaf of yellow and red wild flowers such as creep into abundant life among the forbidding rocks. The vision seemed to bring a new tide of life and vigor to Loring. He forgot his weakness and raised himself for a moment on his elbow; but the effort was too much for him, and he sank back exhausted on his pillow. The girl hesitated for an instant. Then she stepped quickly over to his cot. “This is Miss Cameron, Loring,” explained the doctor; “she has come to thank you for what you have done.” The girl impulsively bent over him, and took his big, weak hand in her own small, strong one. “Oh, I am glad that you are better. I would have come before to see you, but the doctor would not allow it.” Loring looked malevolently at the doctor. “How can I thank you?” she went on. So fascinated was Stephen by the eager breathless way in which she spoke, that he hardly understood what she was saying. With difficulty he raised himself again on his elbow. “Why it was all in the day’s work of a flagman,” he said. “There is nothing at all for which to thank me.” She shook her head in denial. “It is not in the day’s work of a flagman to risk his life for someone whom he has never seen,” she said quickly. “There is nothing that I can say which can possibly express my gratitude; but you do know, don’t you?” As she spoke she looked at him appealingly. Stephen murmured something, he scarcely knew what, in reply, and was conscious of wishing vaguely that the doctor would not look at him.