“You bet! Now, Doc, get through quick and get to bed.”
The bullet was found in the lung and safely extracted. It was a nasty wound and dangerous, but in half an hour “Mexico” was resting quietly. Then the doctor lay down on a couch near by and tossed till morning, conscious of a return of the pain and fever. The symptoms he well knew indicated a very serious condition. When “Mexico” woke the doctor examined him carefully.
“You're fine, 'Mexico.' You'll be all right in a week or two. Keep quiet and obey orders.”
“Mexico's” hand grasped him. “Doc,” he said anxiously, “you look awful bad. Can't you get to bed quick? You're going to be terrible sick.”
“I'm afraid I'm going to be pretty bad, 'Mexico,' but I'm glad I came. I couldn't have stayed away, could I? Remember that, 'Mexico.' I'm glad I came.”
“Mexico's” fierce black eyes softened. “Doc, I'm sorry and I'm glad. I had a lot of things to ask, but I don't need to. I know now. And I want to tell you, I've quit all that business, cut it right out.” He waved his hand toward the bar.
“'Mexico,'” said Barney earnestly, “that's great! That's the best news I've had all summer. Now I must get back quick.” He took the gambler's hand in his. “Good-bye, 'Mexico.'” His voice was earnest, almost solemn. “You've done me a lot of good. Good-bye, old boy. Play the game. He'll never go back on a friend.”
“Mexico” reached out and held him with both hands. “Git out,” he said to the attendant. “Doc,” his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as he drew the doctor down to him, “there ain't nobody here, is there?” he asked, with a glance round the room.
“No, 'Mexico,' no one.”
“Doc,” he began again, his strong frame shaking, “I can't say it. It's all in here till it hurts. You're—you're like Him, I think. You make me think o' Him.”