McCloud, who after the rioting had crawled back to bed with a temperature of 105 degrees, knew the barber, but felt sure that a lunatic had wandered in with him, and immediately bent his feeble mental energies on plans for getting rid of a dangerous man. When Bucks sat down by him and continued talking at the nurse, McCloud caught nothing of what was said until Bucks turned quietly toward him. "They tell me, McCloud, you have the fever." The sick man, staring with sunken eyes, rose half on his elbow in astonishment to look again at his visitor, but Bucks eased him back with an admonition to guard his strength. McCloud's temperature had already risen with the excitement of seeing a man throw his lamp out of the window. Bucks, meantime, working carefully to seem unconcerned and incensing McCloud with great clouds of smoke, tried to discuss his case with him as he had already done with the mine surgeon. McCloud, thinking it best to humor a crazy man, responded quietly. "The doctor said yesterday," he explained, "it was mountain fever, and he wants to put me into an ice-pack." Bucks objected vigorously to the ice-pack. "The doctor tells me that it is the latest treatment for that class of fevers in the Prussian army," answered McCloud feebly, but getting interested in spite of himself. "That's a good thing, no doubt, for the Prussian army," replied Bucks, "but, McCloud, in the first place, you are not a Dutchman; in the second, you have not got mountain fever--not in my judgment." McCloud, confident now that he had an insane man on his hands, held his peace. "Not a symptom of mountain fever," continued Bucks calmly; "you have what looks to me like gastritis, but the homeopaths," he added, "have a better name for it. Is it stomatitis, McCloud? I forget." The sick man, confounded by such learning, determined to try one question, and, if he was at fault, to drag his gun from under his pillow and sell his life as dearly as possible. Summoning his waning strength, he looked hard at Bucks. "Just let me ask you one question. I never saw you before. Are you a doctor?" "No, I'm a railroad man; my name is Bucks." McCloud rose half up in bed with amazement. "They'll kill you if you lie here a week," continued Bucks. "In just a week. Now I'll tell you my plan. I'll take you down in the morning in my car to Medicine Bend; this barber will go with us. There in the hospital you can get everything you need, and I can make you comfortable. What do you say?" McCloud looked at his benefactor solemnly, but if hope flickered for an instant in his eyes it soon died. Bucks said afterward that he looked like a cold-storage squab, just pinfeathers and legs. "Shave him clean," said he, "and you could have counted his teeth through his cheeks." The sick man turned his face to the wall. "It's kind enough," he muttered, "but I guess it's too late."