He
told me of some sort of an accident."

"Is he a miner?"

"He is a mine owner, so Mr. Mallison told me, but he never heard of the
man before."

The stranger received several letters the next day and then a telegram.
Shortly after that he took to his bed.

"I am feeling worse," said he to the bell boy who answered his ring. "I
want you to send for that doctor again. Ask him to call about noon."

"Yes, sir," answered the boy, and Doctor Gardner was sent for without
delay. He came and made another examination and left some medicine.

"I'll take the medicine regularly," said the stranger, who was in bed.
But when the doctor had left he quietly poured half of the contents of
the bottle into the wash bowl, where it speedily drained from sight!

"Don't catch me drinking such rot," he muttered to himself. "I'd rather
have some good liquor any day," and he took a long pull from a black
bottle he had in his valise.

About noon a carriage drove up to the hotel and two men alighted.

One led the way into the hotel and asked to see the register.

"I'd like to see Mr. David Ball," said he to the clerk.

"Mr. Ball is sick."

"So I have heard and that is why I wish to see him."

"I'll send up your card."

"I don't happen to have a card. Tell him Mr. Anderson is here, from
Philadelphia, with a friend of his."

The message was sent to the sick man's room, and word came down that he
would see the visitors in a few minutes.

"He says he is pretty sick and he can't talk business very long," said
the bell boy.

"We won't bother him very much," answered the man who had given his name
as Anderson.

Joe happened to be close by during this conversation and he looked the
man called Anderson over with care.

"I've seen that man, too!" he declared to himself. "But where? I declare
he is as much of a mystery as the sick one!"

Our hero's curiosity was now aroused to the highest pitch, and when the
two men walked up to David Ball's room he followed to the very doorway.

"Come in," came from the room, and a deep groan followed. On the bed
lay the man from Montana, wrapped in several blankets and with a look of
anguish on his features.

"Feeling pretty bad, eh?" said Anderson, as he stalked in. "I am
downright sorry for you."

"I'm afraid I am going to die," groaned the man in bed. "The doctor says
I am in bad shape. He wants me to take a trip to Europe, or somewhere
else."

"This is Mr. Maurice Vane," went on Anderso