bout
this six thousand dollars in cold cash."

A sneering, sour smile came to Burlingame's lips. The medical man's dry
allusions touched him on the raw all too often.

"Oh, of course, I told them all about that six thousand dollars! Of
course! A lot of people suspect those McMahons of being crooked.
Well, it has never been proved. Until it's proved, they're entitled--"
Burlingame paused.

"To the benefit of the doubt, eh?"

"Why not? I've heard you hold the balance pretty fair 'twixt your
patients and the undertaker."

Quite unmoved, the Young Doctor coolly replied: "In your own happy
phrase--of course! I get a commission from the undertaker when the
patient's a poor man; when he's a rich man, I keep him alive! It
pays. The difference between your friends the criminals and me is that
probably nobody will ever be able to catch me out. But the McMahons,
we'll get them yet,"--a stern, determined look came into his honest
eye,--"yes, we'll get them yet. They're a nasty fringe on the skirts of
Askatoon.

"But there it is as it is," he continued. "You take their dirty money,
and I don't refuse pay when I'm called in to attend the worst man in the
West, whoever he may be. Why, Burlingame, as your family physician, I
shouldn't hesitate even to present my account against your estate if, in
a tussle with the devil, he got you out of my hands."

Now a large and friendly smile covered his face. He liked hard hitting,
but he also liked to take human nature as it was, and not to quarrel.
Burlingame, on his part, had no desire for strife with the Young Doctor.
He would make a very dangerous enemy. His return smile was a great
effort, however. Ruefulness and exasperation were behind it.

The Young Doctor had only been gone a few minutes when Joel Mazarine
entered Burlingame's office. "I've come about that six thousand dollars
Mr. Guise of Slow Down Ranch owes me," the old man said without any
formal salutation. He was evidently not good-humoured.

At sight of Mazarine, Burlingame at once accepted the general verdict
concerning him. That, however, would not prejudice him greatly.
Burlingame had no moral sense. Mazarine's face might revolt him, but not
his character.

"I've got the cash here for you, and I'll have in a witness and hand the
money over at once," he said: "The receipt is ready. I assume you are
Joel Mazarine," he added, in a weak attempt at being humorous.

"Get on with the business, Mister," said the old man