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“I’ve had a hard fight for you, old man,” the doctor explained. “I couldn’t leave you here to die.”

“I guess I must ‘a’ been pretty sick.”

“Right! There’s no hospital here, so I took this cabin–borrowed it from the Company. We don’t burn much fuel, and expenses aren’t high.”

“You been standin’ off the landlord?”

“Yes.”

There was a considerable silence, then Bill said, fervently: “You’re a regular guy, like I told you! But you got your pill business to attend to. I’m all right now, so you better blow.”

Thomas smiled dubiously. “You’re a long way from all right, and there’s no place to ‘blow’ to. The last boat sailed two weeks ago.”

“Last boat for where?”

“For anywhere. We’re here for the winter, unless the mail-carrier will take us to Nome, or up the Yukon, after the trails open.”

“I bet you’ll do a good business right here, when folks see what you done for me,” Bill ventured.

“Just wait till you look at the town–deserted warehouses, some young and healthy watchmen, and a Siwash village. You’re the only possible patient in all of St. Michaels.”

Bill lay silent for an hour, staring through the open cabin window at a gray curtain of falling snowflakes; then he shook his head and muttered:

“Well, I be danged!”

“Anything you want?” Thomas inquired, quickly.

“I was just thinking about that gal.” Bill indicated the leather-framed photograph which was prominently featured above the other bunk. “You ain’t gettin’ ahead very fast, are you?”

This time the young medical man smiled with his lips only–his eyes were grave and troubled. “I’ve written her all the circumstances, and she’ll understand. She’s that sort of a girl.” He turned cheerfully back to his task. “I found that I had a few dollars left, so we won’t starve.”

Mr. Hyde felt impelled to confess that in his war-bag there was a roll of some seven hundred dollars, title to which had vested in him on the northward trip, together with certain miscellaneous objects of virtu, but he resisted the impulse, fearing that an investigation by his nurse might lead the latter to believe that he, Bill, was not a harness-maker at all, but a jewelry salesman. He determined to spring that roll at a later date, and to present the doctor with a very thin, very choice gold watch out of State-room 27. Bill carried out this intention when he had sufficiently recovered to get about.

Later, when his lungs had healed, Bill hired the mail-man to take him and his nurse to Nome. Since he was not yet altogether strong, he rode the sled most of the way, while the doctor walked. It was a slow and tiresome trip, along the dreary shores of Behring Sea, over timberless tundras, across inlets where the new ice bent beneath their weight and where the mail-carrier cautiously tested the footing with the head of his ax. Sometimes they slept in their tent, or again in road-houses and in Indian villages.

Every hour Laughing Bill grew stronger, and with his strength of body grew his strength of affection for the youthful doctor. Bill experienced a dog-like satisfaction in merely being near him; he suffered pangs when Thomas made new friends; he monopolized him jealously. The knowledge that he had a pal was new and thrilling; it gave Bill constant food for thought and speculation. Thomas was always gentle and considerate, but his little services, his unobtrusive sacrifices never went unnoticed, and they awoke in the bandit an ever-increasing wonderment. Also, they awoke a fierce desire to square the obligation.

The two men laid over at one of the old Russian towns, and Thomas, as was his restless custom, made investigation of the native village. Of course Bill went with him. They had learned by this time to enter Indian houses without knocking, so, therefore, when they finally came to a cabin larger and cleaner than the rest they opened the door and stepped inside, quite like experienced travelers.