Part 3 (1/2)

”I shot him, ma'am,” he said gravely, ”but he ain't goin' to die till sundown.”

As from some great distance a voice seemed to come to him. ”Mercy!” it said. ”What is wrong? Who is shot?”

”Why, the snake, ma'am,” he returned thickly. He slid down from his pony and staggered to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the slender posts and hanging dizzily on. ”You see, ma'am, that d.a.m.ned rattler got Ferguson. But Ferguson ain't reckonin' on dyin' till sundown. He couldn't let no snake get the best of him.”

He saw the woman start toward him, felt her hands on his arms, helping him upon the porch. Then he felt her hands on his shoulders, felt them pressing him down. He felt dimly that there was a chair under him, and he sank into it, leaning back and stretching himself out full length.

A figure flitted before him and presently there was a sharp pain in his foot. He started out of the chair, and was abruptly shoved back into it, Then the figure leaned over him, prying his jaws apart with some metal like object and pouring something down his throat. He clicked as he swallowed, vainly trying to brush away the object.

”You're a h.e.l.l of a snake,” he said savagely. Then the world blurred dizzily, and he drifted into oblivion.

CHAPTER IV

A ”DIFFERENT GIRL”

Ferguson had no means of knowing how long he was unconscious, but when he awoke the sun had gone down and the darkening shadows had stolen into the clearing near the cabin. He still sat in the chair on the porch. He tried to lift his injured foot and found to his surprise that some weight seemed to be on it. He struggled to an erect position, looking down. His foot had been bandaged, and the weight that he had thought was upon it was not a weight at all, but the hands of a young woman.

She sat on the porch floor, the injured foot in her lap, and she had just finished bandaging it. Beside her on the porch floor was a small black medicine case, a sponge, some yards of white cloth, and a tin wash basin partly filled with water.

He had a hazy recollection of the young woman; he knew it must have been she that he had seen when he had ridden up to the porch. He also had a slight remembrance of having spoken to her, but what the words were he could not recall. He stretched himself painfully. The foot pained frightfully, and his face felt hot and feverish; he was woefully weak and his nerves were tingling--but he was alive.

The girl looked up at his movement. Her lips opened and she held up a warning hand.

”You are to be very quiet,” she admonished.

He smiled weakly and obeyed her, leaning back, his gaze on the slate-blue of the sky. She still worked at the foot, fastening the bandage; he could feel her fingers as they pa.s.sed lightly over it. He did not move, feeling a deep contentment.

Presently she arose, placed the foot gently down, and entered the house. With closed eyes he lay in the chair, listening to her step as she walked about in the house. He lay there a long time, and when he opened his eyes again he knew that he must have been asleep, for the night had come and a big yellow moon was rising over a rim of distant hills. Turning his head slightly, he saw the interior of one of the rooms of the cabin--the kitchen, for he saw a stove and some kettles and pans hanging on the wall and near the window a table, over which was spread a cloth. A small kerosene lamp stood in the center of the table, its rays glimmering weakly through the window. He raised one hand and pa.s.sed it over his forehead. There was still some fever, but he felt decidedly better than when he had awakened the first time.

Presently he heard a light step and became aware of some one standing near him. He knew it was the girl, even before she spoke, for he had caught the rustle of her dress.

”Are you awake,” she questioned.

”Why, yes, ma'am,” he returned. He turned to look at her, but in the darkness he could not see her face.

”Do you feel like eating anything?” she asked.

He grinned ruefully in the darkness. ”I couldn't say that I'm exactly yearnin' for grub,” he returned, ”though I ain't done any eatin' since mornin'. I reckon a rattler's bite ain't considered to help a man's appet.i.te any.”

He heard her laugh softly. ”No,” she returned; ”I wouldn't recommend it.”

He tried again to see her, but could not, and so he relaxed and turned his gaze on the sky. But presently he felt her hand on his shoulder, and then her voice, as she spoke firmly.

”You can't lie here all night,” she said. ”You would be worse in the morning. And it is impossible for you to travel to-night. I am going to help you to get into the house. You can lean your weight on my shoulder.”

He struggled to an erect position and made out her slender figure in the dim light from the window. He would have been afraid of crus.h.i.+ng her could he have been induced to accept her advice. He got to his uninjured foot and began to hop toward the door, but she was beside him instantly protesting.

”Stop!” she commanded firmly. ”If you do that it will be the worse for you. Put your hand on my shoulder!”

In the darkness he could see her eyes flash with determination, and so without further objection he placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, and in this manner they made their way through the door and into the cabin.

Once inside the door he halted, blinking at the light and undecided.