oom back of the bar
of the "Frank" saloon, seated at a table surrounded by six or eight men
with a deck of cards in his hand, deep in a game of "Black Jack" for
which he held the pot. Opposite him sat "Mexico," the type of a Western
professional gambler and desperado, his swarthy face adorned with a pair
of sweeping mustaches, its expressionless appearance relieved by a pair
of glittering black eyes. For nine hours the doctor had not moved from
his chair, playing any who might care to chip in to the game. For the
last hour he had been winning heavily, till, at his right hand, he had
a heap of new crisp bills lately from the Bank of Montreal, having made
but a slight pause in the grimy hands of the railroad men on their way
to his. At his left hand stood a glass of water with which, from time
to time, he moistened his lips. His face was like a mask of death,
colourless and empty of feeling, except that in the black eyes, deep-set
and blood-shot, there gleamed a light as of madness. The room was full
of men watching the game and waiting an opportunity to get into it.

"The doctor's wanted!" shouted Shorty, bursting into the room. Not
a head turned, and but for a slight flicker of impatience the doctor
remained unmoved.

"There's a man dyin' out here from No. 2," continued Shorty.

"Let him go to hell, then, an' you go, too!" growled out "Mexico," who
had for the greater part of the evening been playing in bad luck, but
who had refused to quit, waiting for the turn.

"He's out here in the snow," continued Shorty, "an' he's chokin' to
death, an' we don't know what to do with him."

The doctor looked up from his hand. "Put him in somewhere. I'll be along
soon."

"They won't let him in anywhere. They're all afraid, an' he's chokin' to
death."

The doctor turned down his cards. "What do you say? Choking to death?"
He passed his hand over his eyes. His professional instinct began to
assert itself.

"Yes," continued Shorty. "There's somethin' wrong with him; he can't
swallow. An' we can't git him in."

The doctor pushed back his chair. "Here, men," he said, "I'm going to
quit."

A chorus of oaths and imprecations greeted his proposal.

"You can't quit now!" growled "Mexico" fiercely, like a dog that is
about to lose a bone. "You've got to give us a chance."

"Well, here's your chance then," cried the doctor. "Let's stop this
tiddle-de-winks game. You can't have up more than a hundred apiece.
I'll put my pile agai