"I looked him over again, put in a few stitches, and fixed him up for the night. When I had finished he said:
"'Come closer, "Doc"; am I going to die?'
"'No, not this time; you'll pull through. Close shave, but you'll weather it. But you want some air. Here, you fellows'—and I motioned to two men leaning against the quilt tacked over the window—'rip that off and open that window. He's got to breathe—too many of you in here, anyway,'
"One of the men moved the lidless dry-goods box against the wall, picked up the kerosene lamp and placed it inside, smothering its light; the other tore the lower end of the quilt from the sash, letting in the fresh, wet night-air.
"I turned to the wounded man again.
"'You say you've seen me before?'
"'Yes, once. You sewed this up'—and he held up his arm showing a healed scar. 'You've forgot it, but I haven't.'
"'Where?'
"'Bellevue. They took me in there. You treated me white. That's why my pal hunted you up. Say, Bill'—and he called to my companion with the slouch hat—'pay the "Doc."'
"Half a dozen men dove instantly into their pockets, but my companion already had his roll of bills in his hand. He bent over so that the glow of the half-smothered lamp could fall upon his hand, unrolled a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me.