erest of life again, and his stock of
audacity did not appear to be in the least diminished by his melancholy
experience. He treated Dr. Slavens on the footing of an old friend, and
if there was any shame in his heart at his past behavior toward Agnes,
his colorless cheeks did not betray it.

With the exception of one flying visit to the capital city of the state,
Governor Boyle had remained in camp faithfully since the day of the
tragedy. But the slow days in those solitudes were galling to his busy
mind once the safety of his boy's life was assured. He became in a
measure dictatorial and high-handed in his dealings with the doctor, and
altogether patronizing.

Dr. Slavens considered his duty toward the patient at an end on the
morning when they loaded him into the spring wagon to take him to
Comanche. He told the Governor as much.

"He'll be able to get up in a few days more," said the doctor, "and
inside of a month he'll be riding his horse as if daylight never had
been let through him."

Governor Boyle took this announcement as the signal for him to produce
his checkbook, which he did with considerable ostentation and flourish.

"How much did you expect to get out of this pile of rocks?" he asked the
doctor, poising his fountain-pen over the page.

Dr. Slavens colored under the question, which came so sharply and
indelicately, although he had rehearsed in his mind for that moment an
uncounted number of times. He said nothing, fumbling as he was for a
reply.

Jerry, lying back on his cot in the wagon, his head propped up, laughed
shortly and answered for him.

"It was about twenty thousand, wasn't it, Doctor?"

"Somewhere around there," admitted Slavens, as if confessing some wild
folly.

"Well, I said I'd give you half as much as you expected to get out of it
if you pulled Jerry through, and I'm here to keep my word," said the
Governor, beginning to write.

Agnes looked at the doctor, indignant amazement in her face. Then she
turned to the Governor sharply.

"I beg your pardon, Governor Boyle, but I was present when you made that
promise; you said you'd pay him _twice_ as much as he hoped to get out
of the claim if he saved Jerry's life," said she.

Governor Boyle raised his eyes with a cold, severe look on his bearded
face.

"I beg your pardon!" said he with withering rebuke, which carried with
it denial and challenge of proof. That said, he bent to his writing
again.

Jerry Boyle laughed.

"