on him except that of all common humanity. An onlooker would have
thought that the dread disease had no horrors for the boy, but Con was
only human, and many a time he fought it out with himself when the
terrors of the threatened infection were upon him. Then he would say
to himself, "Con, are you going to try and be a gentleman through your
whole life, or just be a cad?" Then all thought of quitting would
vanish, and back he would go to the shack, to be rewarded by a wonderful
look of dog-like gratitude that would shine in Snooks' festered eyes,
replacing the haunting fear that always lurked there whenever the boy
remained outside any length of time--the fear that Con, too, had gone,
as had his "pardner," leaving him forever alone.

"Don't you get scared," Con would say on these occasions. "I'm with you
to the finish for good or ill, and it will be for good, I think."

"It sure is for _my_ good," Snooks had said once. "If I pull out of this
I'll be another man, and it will be owing to having known you, pard. I
had forgotten that such bravery and decency and unselfishness existed.
I had--"

"Oh, quit it! Stop it!" Con smiled. "This isn't anything--don't you
know." But Snooks shook his head thoughtfully, muttering, "I _do_ know,
and you're making another man of me."

One day, after two weeks had dragged wearily past wherein no human being
had passed up the unfrequented trail, Con heard gun shots, distant at
first, then nearing the shack. Like a wild being he sprang to the door,
hoping some range rider, chancing by, would at least bring food and a
doctor, when, to his horror, he saw Banty riding by, almost exhausted,
peering to right and left of the trail, searching--searching, he well
knew, for his lost cousin. Con made a rapid bolt for a hiding place, but
Banty, whose quick eyes had caught sight of the fleeting figure, gave a
yell of delight as he leaped from his saddle.

"Don't you come _near_ this place! Get out, _get_ out, I tell you!"
screamed Con, while Banty stood as if petrified, staring wide-eyed at
his seemingly insane cousin.

"You come near here and I'll trim you within an inch of your life," Con
roared anew, shaking his fist menacingly. "I'll trim you the way I did
the fellow who sent me the blue ribbon for my hair. We've got smallpox
here. I'm looking after a chap who is down with it. Get us a doctor and
beef tea and more tar soap and food, but don't you come an inch nearer,
Banty, _don't_. Think of