The woman who sat at his bedside watched anxiously each
movement of his lips, listening eagerly to catch the incoherent,
whispered words. For a time she could make of them no intelligent
meaning. But now, after a long and quiet interval, he began to ask
questions, though his eyes were still closed. "Am I going to die?"
"No," said Inez, for it was she, "you've lost a lot of blood, but the
doctor says there's small danger."
The bearded face looked up half quizzically. "Are you glad?"
"Oh ... yes," said Inez, with a quick-taken respiration.
"Then it's all right," the patient murmured sleepily. His eyes closed.
Inez' color heightened as she watched him. What had he meant, she
wondered, and decided that his brain was not quite clear. But, somehow,
this was not the explanation she desired.
Presently Dr. Elbert Jones came in, cheering her with his breezy, jovial
drawl.
"Getting tired of your task?" he questioned. But Inez shook her head.
"He protected me," she said. "It was while defending me that he was
wounded." Her eyes searched the physician's face. "Where," she
questioned fearfully, "is--"
"McTurpin?" returned the doctor. "Lord knows. He vamoosed,
absquatulated.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81