When he removed the thermometer from between the lips of Cumberland the old man spoke, but without lifting his closed eyelids, as if even this were an effort which he could only accomplish by a great concentration of the will.

“No fever to-day, doc?”

“You feel a little better?” asked Byrne.

“They ain’t no feelin’.  But I ain’t hot; jest sort of middlin’ cold.”

Doctor Byrne glanced down at the thermometer with a frown, and then shook down the mercury.

“No,” he admitted, “there is no fever.”

Joe Cumberland opened his eyes a trifle and peered up at Byrne.

“You ain’t satisfied, doc?”

Doctor Randall Byrne was of that merciless modern school which believes in acquainting the patient with the truth.

“I am not,” he said.

“H-m-m!” murmured the sick man.  “And what might be wrong?”

“Your pulse is uneven and weak,” said the doctor.

“I been feelin’ sort of weak since I seen Dan last night,” admitted the other.  “But that news Kate brought me will bring me up!  She’s kept him here, lad, think of that!”

“I am thinking of it,” answered the doctor coldly.  “Your last interview with him nearly—­killed you.  If you see him again I shall wash my hands of the case.  When he first came you felt better at once—­in fact, I admit that you seemed to do better both in body and mind.  But the thing could not last.  It was a false stimulus, and when the first effects had passed away, it left you in this condition.  Mr. Cumberland, you must see him no more!”

But Joe Cumberland laughed long and softly.

“Life,” he murmured, “ain’t worth that much!  Not half!”

“I can do no more than advise,” said the doctor, as reserved as before.  “I cannot command.”

“A bit peeved, doc?” queried the old man.  “Well, sir, I know they ain’t much longer for me.  Lord, man, I can feel myself going out like a flame in a lamp when the oil runs up.  I can feel life jest makin’ its last few jumps in me like the flame up the chimney.  But listen to me——­” he reached out a long, large knuckled, claw-like hand and drew the doctor down over him, and his eyes were earnest—­“I got to live till I see ’em standin’ here beside me, hand in hand, doc!”

The doctor, even by that dim light, had changed colour.  He passed his hand slowly across his forehead.

“You expect to see that?”

“I expect nothin’.  I only hope!”

The bitterness of Byrne’s heart came up in his throat.

“It will be an oddly suited match,” he said, “if they marry.  But they will not marry.”

“Ha!” cried Cumberland, and starting up in bed he braced himself on a quaking elbow.  “What’s that?”

“Lie down!” ordered the doctor, and pressed the ranchman back against the pillows.

“But what d’you mean?”

“It would be a long story—­the scientific explanation.”