o say that He wants you more than
I do, wants to wipe off that debt of yours, wants you for His friend."

"Say, Doc," said "Mexico," drawing back a little from him, "I guess not.
That there debt goes back for twenty years, and it's piled out of sight.
It never bothers me much except when I see you and hear you talk. It
would be a blank--that is, a pretty fine thing to have it cleaned off.
But say, Doc, your heap agin mine would be like a sandhill agin that
mountain there."

"The size makes no difference to Him, 'Mexico,'" said the doctor,
quietly. "He is great enough to wipe out anything. I tell you, 'Mexico,'
it's good to get it wiped off. It's simply great!"

"You're right there," said "Mexico," emphatically. Then, as if a sudden
suspicion flashed in upon him, "Say, you're not talkin' religion to me,
are you? I ain't goin' to die just yet."

"Religion? Call it anything you like, 'Mexico.' All I know is I've got a
good thing and I want my friend to have it."

When the doctor was departing next morning "Mexico" stopped him at the
door. "I say, Doc, would you mind letting me have that there book of
yours for a spell?"

The doctor took it out of his bag. "It's yours, 'Mexico,' and you can
bank on it."

The book proved of absorbing interest to "Mexico." He read it openly in
the saloon without any sense of incongruity, at first, between the book
and the business he was carrying on, but not without very considerable
comment on the part of his customers and friends. And what he read
became the subject of frequent discussions with his friend, the doctor.
The book did its work with "Mexico," as it does with all who give it
place, and the first sign of its influence was an uncomfortable feeling
in "Mexico's" mind in regard to his business and his habits of life. His
discomfort became acute one pay night, after a very successful game of
poker in which he had relieved some half a dozen lumbermen of their pay.
For the first time in his life his winnings brought him no satisfaction.
The great law of love to his brother troubled him. In vain he argued
that it was a fair deal and that he himself would have taken his loss
without whining. The disturbing thoughts would not down. He determined
that he would play no more till he had talked the matter over with his
friend, and he watched impatiently for the doctor's return. But that
week the doctor failed to appear, and "Mexico" grew increasingly
uncertain in his mind and in his te