our money is comin' from. I've asked him for the money--his
week is up to-day--but he don't seem to think he owes it."

"Kind of strikes me the same way," replied the deputy obviously
surprised.

"That's accordin' to contract--that's the written agreement." Lamb's
nasal voice immediately became argumentative.

"It may be that,"--the deputy looked at him soberly--"but it don't sound
like common humanity to me--or fairness. He's been paying a dollar a
month to you and your hospital ever since it started and hundreds of
men who have no need of its services have been doin' the same, and I
must say, Lamb, it sounds like pretty small potatoes for you to charge
him for an outside accident like this because your contract will let you
do it and get away with it."

"We ain't here for our health, be we?" demanded Lamb, offensively on the
defensive.

"It don't look like it," Treu replied shortly.

"But he'll want for nothin' while he's under our care." Lamb's tone grew
suddenly conciliatory. "You'd better go now, your presence excites him
and he must have quiet. Step to the door and say good-by, if you like,
but no conversation, please."

"Adios, Billy!" The deputy thrust his head and broad shoulders in the
doorway. "I'll come again soon."

"Good-by, Dan, good-by for keeps, old man. I don't believe I'll be here
when you come again." All the excitement was gone and the boy spoke in
the quiet voice of conviction. "You're quittin' me, Dan. You don't
believe me and the jig's up. You'd risk your life to save me if I was
drowning or up against it in a fight, but you're walkin' away and
leavin' me here to die. You don't believe me now, but I know you're
goin' to find out some time for yourself that I'm tellin' the truth when
I say that I've been murdered. There's more ways to kill a man than with
a gun. Ignorance and neglect does the trick as well. Tell the boys 'much
obliged,' Dan." He turned his white face to the wall and the tears
slipped hot from beneath his lashes.

Dan Treu's troubled eyes sought Lamb's, who waited in the hallway.

"He'll be himself when you come again," said Lamb reassuringly. "We're
doin' everything to git his fever down. Don't let his talk worry you."

But in spite of Lamb's confident assurance Dan Treu walked away from the
hospital filled with a sense of oppression which lasted throughout the
day. The next morning he heard upon the street that they had amputated
Billy Duncan's arm.

"Amputated Bil