y across
at Philip.

"Possibly you belong to the Northwest Mounted Police," he suggested.

"Yes."

"Heavens," drawled the doctor again, "and you the son of a millionaire
banker! What you doing it for?"

"Fun," answered Philip, half laughing. "And I'm not getting it in
sugar-coated pellet form either. Doctor. I came up here to get a
man, found him, and was gloriously walloped for my trouble. I'm not
particularly sorry, either. Rather glad he got away."

"Why?" asked the doctor.

In spite of their short acquaintance Philip began to feel a sort of
comradeship for the man opposite him.

"Well," he said hesitatingly, "you see, he was one of those criminals
who are made criminals. Some one else was responsible--a case of one man
suffering because of another man's sins."

If the doctor had received the thrust of a pin he could not have jumped
from his chair with more startling suddenness than he did at Philip's
words.

"That's it!" he cried excitedly, beginning to pace back and forth across
the cabin floor. "It's more than a theory--it's a truth--that people
suffer more because of other people than on account of themselves.
We're born to it and we keep it up, inflicting a thousand pricks and a
thousand sorrows to gain one selfish end and it isn't once in a hundred
times that the boomerang comes home and strikes the right one down. But
when it does--when it does, sir--"

As suddenly as he had begun, the doctor stopped, and he laughed a
little unnaturally. "Bosh!" he exclaimed. "Let's see that head of yours,
Steele. Speaking of pains and pricks reminds me that, being a surgeon, I
may be of some assistance to you."

Philip knew that he had checked himself with an effort, and as his new
acquaintance began to loosen the bandage he found himself wondering what
mysterious mission could have sent a Chicago surgeon up to Fort Smith.
The doctor interrupted his thoughts.

"Queer place for a blow," he said briskly. "Nothing serious--slight
abrasion--trifle feverish. We'll set you to rights immediately." He
bustled to his greatcoat and from one of the deep pockets drew forth
a leather medicine case. "Queer place, queer place," he chuckled,
returning with a vial in his hand. "Were you running when it happened?"

Philip laughed with him, and by the time the doctor had finished he had
given him an account of his affair with DeBar. Not until hours later,
when the Cree had left on his return trip and they sat smoking before a