"Well, we're going to leave this camp!" the man declared, darkly.
"Indeed? Where are you going?"
"We're going to Hope. You might as well let us go. We won't stand for this."
The physician eyed him coldly. "You won't? May I ask how you are going to help yourselves?"
"We're going to leave on the next steamer."
"Oh, no you're not!" the marshal spoke up.
"See here, Doc! There's over two hundred of us and we can't stay here; we'll go broke."
Gray shrugged his broad shoulders. "Sorry," he said, "but you see I've no choice in the matter. I never saw a case of smallpox that looked worse."
"It's a frame-up," growled the spokesman. "Tom hasn't got smallpox any more than I have. You cooked it to keep us here." There was an angry second to this, whereupon the doctor exclaimed:
"You think so, eh? Then just come with me."