Trailin'! Part 56

He worked with the doctor. Every half hour a temperature was taken, and it was going up steadily. Drew heard the report each time with a tightening of the muscles about his jaws. He helped pack the wounded man with wet cloths. He ran out and stopped a wrangling noise of the cowpunchers several times. But mostly he sat without motion beside the bed, trying to will the sufferer back to life.

And in the middle of the morning, after taking a temperature, the doctor looked to the rancher with a sort of dull wonder.

"It's dropping?" whispered Drew.

"It's lower. I don't think it's dropping. It can't be going down so soon. Wait till the next time I register it. If it's still lower then, he'll get well."

The grey man sagged forward from his chair to his knees and took the hands of Calamity, long-fingered, bony, cold hands they were. There he remained, moveless, his keen eyes close to the wandering stare of the delirious man. Out of the exhaustless reservoir of his will he seemed to be injecting an electric strength into the other, a steadying and even flow of power that pa.s.sed from his hands and into the body of Calamity.

When the time came, and Young stood looking down at the thermometer, Drew lifted haggard eyes, waiting.

"It's lower!"

The great arms of the rancher were thrown above his head; he rose, changed, triumphant, as if he had torn his happiness from the heart of the heavens, and went hastily from the room, silent.

At the stable he took his great bay, saddled him, and swung out on the trail for Eldara, a short, rough trail which led across the Saverack--the same course which Nash and Bard had taken the day before.

But the river had greatly fallen--the water hardly washed above the knees of the horse except in the centre of the stream; by noon he reached the town and went straight for the office of Glendin. The deputy was not there, and the rancher was referred to Murphy's saloon.

There he found Glendin, seated at a corner table with a gla.s.s of beer in front of him, and considering the sun-whitened landscape lazily through the window. At the sound of the heavy footfall of Drew he turned, rose, his shoulders flattened against the wall behind him like a cornered man prepared for a desperate stand.

"It's all right," cried Drew. "It's all over, Glendin. Duffy won't press any charges against Bard; he says that he's given the horse away. And Calamity Ben is going to live."

"Who says he will?"

"I've just ridden in from his bedside. Dr. Young says the crisis is past. And so--thank G.o.d--there's no danger to Bard; he's free from the law!"

"Too late," said the deputy.

It did not seem that Drew heard him. He stepped closer and turned his head.

"What's that?"

"Too late. I've sent out men to--to apprehend Bard."

"Apprehend him?" repeated Drew. "Is it possible? To murder him, you mean!"

He had not made a threatening move, but the deputy had his grip on the b.u.t.t of his gun.

"It was that devil Nash. He persuaded me to send out a posse with him in charge."

"And you sent him?"

"What could I do? Ain't it legal?"

"Murder is legal--sometimes. It has been in the past. I've an idea that it's going to be again."

"What d'you mean by that?"

"You'll learn later. Where did they go for Bard?"

He did not seem disappointed. He was rather like a man who had already heard bad news and now only finds it confirmed. He knew before. Now the fact was simply clinched.

"They went out to your old place on the other side of the range. Drew, listen to me--"

"How many went after him?"

"Nash, Butch Conklin, and five more. Butch's gang."

"Conklin!"

"I was in a hole; I needed men."

"How long have they been gone?"

"Since last night."

"Then," said Drew, "he's already dead. He doesn't know the mountains."

"I give Nash strict orders not to do nothin' but apprehend Bard."

"Don't talk, Glendin. It disgusts me--makes my flesh crawl. He's alone, with seven cutthroats against him."

"Not alone. Sally Fortune's better'n two common men."

"The girl? G.o.d bless her! She's with him; she knows the country. There may be a hope; Glendin, if you're wise, start praying now that I find Bard alive. If I don't--"

The swinging doors closed behind him as he rushed through toward his horse. Glendin stood dazed, his face mottled with a sick pallor. Then he moved automatically toward the bar. Murphy hobbled down the length of the room on his wooden leg and placed bottle and gla.s.s before the deputy.

"Well?" he queried.

Glendin poured his drink with a shaking hand, spilling much liquor across the varnished wood. He drained his gla.s.s at a gulp.

"I dunno; what d'you think, Murphy?"

"You heard him talk, Glendin. You ought to know what's best."

"Let's hear you say it."

"I'd climb the best hoss I owned and start west, and when I come to the sea I'd take a s.h.i.+p and keep right on goin' till I got halfway around the world. And then I'd climb a mountain and hire a couple of dead-shots for guards and have my first night's sleep. After that I'd begin thinkin' of what I could do to get away from Drew."

"Murphy," said the other, "maybe that line of talk would sound sort of exaggerated to some, but I ain't one of them. You've got a wooden leg, but your brain's sound. But tell me, what in G.o.d's name makes him so thick with the tenderfoot?"

He waited for no answer, but started for the door.