CHAPTER XVIII.
CRAFT--OR SURRENDER?
"He's a puzzle," remarked Harry, four days later.
"Meaning our sick man ?" "Of course.

But he isn't going to be a sick man much longer, thanks to you, Tom.

You were born to be a physician." "Don't you believe it," smiled Reade.

"The only previous experience I've had was when I simply had to pull you through out on Indian Smoke Range last winter.

Harry, I was afraid you were a goner, and I couldn't let you go.