Tom immediately tore open the end of the envelope and began running his fingers over the bills. He wanted to see if they were all there.

"I don't want anything," said the clerk. "I wouldn't take anything if you were to offer it to me. Come on and let's go and see the clerk. I'm awful busy when we are making a landing."

Tom at once picked up his valise and fell in behind the clerk, who led the way on board the _Ivanhoe_. By dodging in the rear of some of the deck-hands he managed to get on board without being knocked overboard, and soon found himself standing beside a man who was shouting out some orders to which nobody paid the least attention. He changed his pencil from his hand into his mouth long enough to shake Tom by the hand.

"Go up on the boiler deck and set down there till I come," said he.

"I'll attend to your case in just no time at all."

Seeing that no one else paid any attention to him, Tom ascended the stairs and entered the cabin. He wanted to see what sort of a looking place it was, but almost recoiled when he opened the door, for it was filled so full of stale tobacco smoke that he did not see how anybody could live in it. But he knew that he would have to become accustomed to that smell before he was on the prairie very long, so he kept on and finally found a chair at the further end of the cabin. There was no one near him except a man whose arms were outstretched on the table and his face buried in his hands; and when Tom approached, he raised his head and exhibited a countenance that was literally burning up with fever. He was dressed like a cowboy, but there didn't seem to be anyone to attend to his wants.

"I say," said he, in a faint voice, "I wish you would be good enough to bring me a glass of water."

"Certainly I will," replied Tom, rising and placing his valise in the chair.

He did not know where to go to get it, but as he turned into a little gangway which he thought ought to lead to the galley he encountered a darky, and to him he made known his wants--not for a glass, but for a whole pitcher of ice-water. With these in his hand he went back to the sick man, who, waving away the glass of water which Tom poured out for him, seized the pitcher and drained it nearly dry. Then he set it down, and with a sigh of relief settled back in his chair.

"I have been waiting for an hour for someone to hand me a drink of water, but I didn't have strength enough to go after it," said he, with a smile. "I knew where it was--well, it stayed there."

"Fever and ague?" said Tom.

"Buck ague," responded the man. "I always get it whenever I come to this country."

"I should think you would keep away from it, then."

"Well, I had to come with a herd of cattle my employer was getting up for the government, and that's the way I got it. Ah! here comes one of those lazy kids that ought to have been here and tended to me," added the man, as one of those handsome cowboys that Tom had noticed on the main-deck rapidly approached the table. When he saw the pitcher of ice-water, he stopped and gazed in consternation.

"Somebody's been fixing you!" said he. "He's been taking calomel," he explained to Tom.

"He never said a word to me about it," faltered Tom, who thought he was in a fair prospect of getting himself into trouble.

"You know the doctor said you must be careful not to drink any water after taking that powder," continued the cowboy, looking at Tom as if he had a mind to throw the pitcher at his head.

"The kid is all right," said the sick man, "and I'll stay by him. Now, if you will go away and let me alone, I'll go to sleep."

He stretched himself out on the table once more, and the cowboy went off to consult with his chum. In a few minutes he came back with him, and all they could do was to try to arouse the man to ask him what he thought they had better do for him; but to such interruptions he always replied: "No, no, boys! I'm going to sleep now."

"You ought not to have given that man so much water," said one of the cowboys. "But after all it's our own fault, Hank. One of us ought to have stayed here with him."

Tom Mason did not know what to say, and neither was he able to account for so much forbearance on the part of the cowboys. He looked to see them pull their revolvers; but instead of doing that they drew chairs up beside their sick comrade and waited to see what was going to happen to him, and Tom, filled with remorse, went out on the boiler-deck. Just then the _Jennie June's_ bell rang, the lines and gang-planks were hauled in, and she backed down the river to her moorings. Then the _Ivanhoe's_ bell was struck, and instantly a great hubbub arose among the passengers. Hands were shaken, farewells were said, and in ten minutes more the little boat was ploughing her way up the river. Tom had an opportunity to sit down after that. He pulled a chair up to the railing and sat there for ten minutes awaiting the arrival of the clerk, and wondering how calomel would operate on that man after he had drank ice-water on top of it; and consequently he did not feel very safe when he saw the two cowboys approaching him. He had left them to watch over the sick man, and he did not like to have them follow him up.

"Look here, pard," said the foremost. "You've got the only lower bunk there is in the cabin, and we want to see if you won't give it up to that sick boss of ours. The man now occupying the upper bunk has offered to give it up, but we don't want it."

"You can have it and welcome," said Tom. "I assure you that my giving him a drink was all a mistake. I offered him a glass of water, but he wouldn't take it."

Having given up his bed, Tom considered that he had done all that a boy could do to make amends for what he had done. He gave the clerk his money to lock in the safe, and when night came found a pallet made up for him in a remote corner of the cabin. All the report he could get regarding the sick man was that he was sleeping soundly, and had fought his attendants so hard that it was all they could do to take his clothes off.

"I really believe he is coming around all right," said one of the cowboys. "When he gets mad and reaches for his revolver, it's a mighty good sign."

"Did he draw it on either of you?" asked Tom, in alarm.

"Oh, no; for we took good pains to keep it out of his way."

When Tom got up the next morning (there was no barber shop on this boat, and so he had to comb his hair in the wash-room), and went out on the boiler-deck to get his breath of fresh air, he found three men out there sitting in their chairs, and paying no heed to the cold wind that was blowing. The men who slept there had gone into a warmer climate, down in the neighborhood of the boilers, but their baggage was scattered around just as they had left it. Tom took just one look around, and, seeing how desolate things were, was about to retreat to the cabin, when one of the men happened to spy him.

"My gracious, there's my doctor!" said he cheerfully. "Come here, old man, and give us your flipper."

"Why, I didn't expect to find you out here to-day," said Tom, walking up and taking the outstretched hand of his sick man. "My medicine did you some good, didn't it? But you ought not to sit out here without something around you. You will take cold."

The sick man laughed heartily.

"Why, doctor, I am as sound as a dollar. That water you gave me hit the spot, for it set me to perspiring like a trip-hammer. I knew I was all right as soon as I could sleep. Draw a chair up and sit down. You won't take cold while you have that overcoat on."

Tom drew a chair up alongside the sick man, one of the cowboys moving aside to make room for him, and deposited his feet on the railing. The wind cut severely, and he would have felt a good deal more cheerful beside the cabin fire.

"Where be you a-travelling to, doctor?" said the sick man; for Tom didn't know what else to call him. "If you are going out our way, we may be able to be of some use to you."

"I am going to Fort Hamilton," said Tom. "How much farther I don't know until I have seen Black Dan."

It was curious what a sensation that name occasioned in that little company. They simply looked at each other and smiled, and then settled down and sought new places for their feet on the railing. It was evident that they took Black Dan for a relative of his.

"Have you got much to do with him?" asked one of the cowboys.

"I never saw him," Tom hastened to say. "I got his name from a Mr.

Bolton, who gave me a very valuable pin to return to him. He got into a fight once and had some diamonds torn out of it."

"Yes, Dan has been in a good many fights," said the sick man. "He aint the fellow he used to be."

"I--I hope he didn't get the worst of any of them."

"Well--yes. He rather got the worst of the last fight he was in. He got into a row with three fellows,--cowboys, I knew them well,--and although he managed to get away with all of them, one shot him through the arm above the elbow, and it had to be taken off."

"Amputated?" said Tom.

"Yes, I suppose that's what you call it. Then Dan took to drink and lost everything he had."

"Why should the loss of his arm send him to drink?"

"He couldn't shuffle the cards any more. He doesn't do anything now but get drunk in the morning and then crawl into some hole and sleep it off; and he has seen the time when he was worth a million."

Tom Mason was sorry to hear all this. He did not know what he was going to do now that Black Dan was in no condition to help him. Who was he going to get to grub-stake him and send him into the mountains to find a gold mine? He knew that things were pretty high in Fort Hamilton, and his two hundred dollars would not last him a great while.

"For a fellow who has never seen Black Dan you appear to take his downfall very much to heart," said the sick man.

"Yes, I do. I was depending on him to see me through. I have a very nice pin which is his own private property, and which I have been commissioned to give into his keeping."

"Have you got it with you?"

Tom replied that the pin was in his baggage, and arose and went after it. In a few minutes he returned with it in his hand, and was not a little surprised at the exclamations of astonishment that arose from his three friends when they handled the ornament, and passed it from one to the other and speculated upon its merits.