former partner on his knee, and wiping the foam from his inarticulate
lips. Gradually the tremor became less frequent, and then ceased; and
the strong man lay unconscious in his arms.

For some moments York held him quietly thus, looking in his face. Afar,
the stroke of a wood-man's axe--a mere phantom of sound--was all
that broke the stillness. High up the mountain, a wheeling hawk hung
breathlessly above them. And then came voices, and two men joined them.

"A fight?" No, a fit; and would they help him bring the sick man to the
hotel?

And there, for a week, the stricken partner lay, unconscious of aught
but the visions wrought by disease and fear. On the eighth day, at
sunrise, he rallied, and, opening his eyes, looked upon York, and
pressed his hand; then he spoke:--

"And it's you. I thought it was only whiskey."

York replied by taking both of his hands, boyishly working them backward
and forward, as his elbow rested on the bed, with a pleasant smile.

"And you've been abroad. How did you like Paris?"

"So, so. How did YOU like Sacramento?"

"Bully."

And that was all they could think to say. Presently Scott opened his
eyes again.