warranted to dissipate the most chronic complaints. It will incite
slumber, mend the broken heart, cause the hair to grow, is good for
chapped hands, sore eyes and ingrowing toe-nails. It is a panacea for
all evils and a trial will cost you nothing."

He passed the bottle to Swanson, who stood listening to his glib tongue
in amused wonder, and invited him to test the medicine. Nothing loth,
the giant took a huge drink.

"Whisky," he shouted, joyfully, "the real, old stuff," and smacking his
lips he again applied them to the bottle. It was passed around, and the
doctor at once became the most popular man on the ranche.

Scip, who had finally succeeded in securing his horses to his
satisfaction, during which time he had made a tour of the premises and
obtained the lay of the land, now entered the room and pushing his way
through the crowd gathered around the Doctor and his bottle of "cure
all," spread his hands to the fire, standing beside Cummings.

"Where did you pick up the darkey, Doctor?" inquired Swanson,
designating Scip by a jerk of his thumb.

"The hard fact is, gentlemen, that we picked each other up. I was 1907
and Scip was 1908.

"How's that?"

"I repeat. I was 1907 and Scip was 1908."

"You mean to say you were doing--"