"In Scotland. I am going there."
"Impossible—as you now are. Get off at Denver. Go to an hotel, and send for this physician," and he handed him a slip of paper on which the name was written. Robert glanced at it, and held it in his hand.
"Put it in your vest pocket."
He did so, but his hands trembled so violently, and he looked into the man's face with eyes so full of unspeakable suffering and sorrow, that the stranger's heart was touched. He resolved to get off at Denver with him, and see that he was properly attended to.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"I am Robert Campbell."
"Brother of David Campbell of San Francisco?"
"Yes."
"He is as good a man as ever lived. I know him well."
"Write and tell him his brother is dying—he will come to me."