He caught at the last sentence only.

“You my friend?” he said, breathlessly, “then tell me:  is there a doctor around here?”

“No,” said I, looking at him closely, “not this side of Tucson.  Are you sick?”

“Is there a drug store in town, then?”

“Nary drug store.”

He jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair as he did so.

“My God!” he cried in uncontrollable excitement, “I’ve got to get my bag!  How far is it to the next station where they’re going to put it off?  Ain’t there some way of getting there?  I got to get to my bag.”

“It’s near to forty miles,” I replied, leaning back.

“And there’s no drug store here?  What kind of a bum tank town is this, anyhow?”

“They keep a few patent medicines and such over at the Lone Star Emporium——­” I started to tell him.  I never had a chance to finish my sentence.  He darted around the table, grabbed me by the arm, and urged me to my feet.

“Show me!” he panted.

We sailed through the bar room under full head of steam, leaving the gang staring after us open-mouthed.  I could feel we were exciting considerable public interest.  At the Lone Star Emporium the little freak looked wildly about him until his eyes fell on the bottle shelves.  Then he rushed right in behind the counter and began to paw them over.  I headed off Sol Levi, who was coming front making war medicine.

“Loco,” says I to him.  “If there’s any damage, I’ll settle.”

It looked like there was going to be damage all right, the way he snatched up one bottle after the other, read the labels, and thrust them one side.  At last he uttered a crow of delight, just like a kid.

“How many you got of these?” he demanded, holding up a bottle of soothing syrup.

“You only take a tablespoon of that stuff——­” began Sol.

“How many you got—­how much are they?” interrupted the stranger.

“Six—­three dollars a bottle,” says Sol, boosting the price.

The little man peeled a twenty off a roll of bills and threw it down.

“Keep the other five bottles for me!” he cried in a shaky voice, and ran out, with me after him, forgetting his change and to shut the door behind us.

Back through McGrue’s bar we trailed like one of these moving-picture chases and into the back room.

“Well, here we are home again,” said I.

The stranger grabbed a glass and filled it half full of soothing syrup.

“Here, you aren’t going to drink that!” I yelled at him.  “Didn’t you hear Sol tell you the dose is a spoonful?”

But he didn’t pay me any attention.  His hand was shaking so he could hardly connect with his own mouth, and he was panting as though he’d run a race.

“Well, no accounting for tastes,” I said.  “Where do you want me to ship your remains?”

He drank her down, shut his eyes a few minutes, and held still.  He had quit his shaking, and he looked me square in the face.