"Dave Law. He must have came in on the noon train. Anyhow, I found him--like that." The two men hurried toward the road, side by side.

"What's wrong with him?" Blaze demanded.

"I don't know. He's queer--he's off his bean. I've had a hard time with him."

Paloma was in the carriage at Dave's side now, and calling his name; but Law, it seemed, was scarcely conscious. He had slumped together; his face was vacant, his eyes dull. He was muttering to himself a queer, delirious jumble of words.

"Oh, Dad! He's sick--sick," Paloma sobbed. "Dave, don't you know us?

You're home, Dave. Everything is--all right now."

"Why, you'd hardly recognize the boy!" Blaze exclaimed; then he added his appeal to his daughter's. But they could not arouse the sick man from his coma.

"He asked me to take him to Las Palmas," Strange explained. "Looks to me like a sunstroke. You'd ought to hear him rave when he gets started."

Paloma turned an agonized face to her father. "Get a doctor, quick,"

she implored; "he frightens me."

But Mrs. Strange had followed, and now she spoke up in a matter-of-fact tone: "Doctor nothing," she said. "I know more than all the doctors.

Paloma, you go into the house and get a bed ready for him, and you men lug him in. Come, now, on the run, all of you! I'll show you what to do." She took instant charge of the situation, and when Dave refused to leave the carriage and began to fight off his friends, gabbling wildly, it was she who quieted him. Elbowing Blaze and her husband out of the way, she loosed the young man's frenzied clutch from the carriage and, holding his hands in hers, talked to him in such a way that he gradually relaxed. It was she who helped him out and then supported him into the house. It was she who got him up-stairs and into bed, and it was she who finally stilled his babble.

"The poor man is burning up with a fever," she told the others, "and fevers are my long suit. Get me some towels and a lot of ice."

Blaze, who had watched the snake-charmer's deft ministrations with mingled amazement and suspicion, inquired: "What are you going to do with ice? Ice ain't medicine."

"I'm going to pack his head in it."

"G.o.d'l'mighty!" Blaze was horrified. "Do you want to freeze his brain?"

Mrs. Strange turned on him angrily. "You get out of my way and mind your own business. 'Freeze his brain!'" With a sniff of indignation she pushed past the interloper.

But Blaze was waiting for her when she returned a few moments later with bowls and bottles and various remedies which she had commandeered.

He summoned sufficient courage to block her way and inquire:

"What you got there, now, ma'am?"

Mrs. Strange glared at him balefully. With an effort at patience she inquired: "Say! What ails you, anyhow?"

Jones swallowed hard. "Understand, he's a friend of mine. No d.a.m.ned magic goes."

"Magic?"

"No--c.o.c.kroaches or snakes' tongues, or--"

Mrs. Strange fingered a heavy china bowl as if tempted to bounce it from Blaze's head. Then, not deigning to argue, she whisked past him and into the sick-room. It was evident from her expression that she considered the master of the house a harmless but offensive old busybody.

For some time longer Blaze hung about the sick-room; then, his presence being completely ignored, he risked further antagonism by telephoning for Jonesville's leading doctor. Not finding the physician at home, he sneaked out to the barn and, taking Paloma's car, drove away in search of him. It was fully two hours later when he returned to discover that Dave was sleeping quietly.

XXV

A WARNING AND A SURPRISE

Dave Law slept for twenty hours, and even when he awoke it was not to a clear appreciation of his surroundings. At first he was relieved to find that the splitting pain in his head was gone, but imagined himself to be still in the maddening local train from Brownsville. By and by he recognized Paloma and Mrs. Strange, and tried to talk to them, but the connection between brain and tongue was imperfect, and he made a bad business of conversation. It seemed queer that he should be in bed at the Joneses', and almost ludicrous for Mrs. Strange to support him while Paloma fed him. In the effort to understand these mysteries, he dozed again. After interminable periods of semi-consciousness alternating with complete oblivion, he roused himself to discover that it was morning and that he felt better than for weeks. When he had recovered from his surprise he turned his head and saw Mrs. Strange slumbering in a chair beside his bed; from her uncomfortable position and evident fatigue he judged that she must have kept a long and faithful vigil over him.

A little later Paloma, pale and heavy-eyed, stole into the room, and Dave's cheerful greeting awoke Mrs. Strange with a jerk.

"So! You're feeling better, aren't you," the latter woman cried, heartily.

"Yes. How did I get here?" Dave asked. "I must have been right sick and troublesome to you."

Paloma smiled and nodded. "Sick! Why, Dave, you frightened us nearly to death! You were clear out of your head."

So that was it. The breakdown had come sooner than he expected, and it had come, moreover, without warning. That was bad--bad! Although Dave's mind was perfectly clear at this moment, he reasoned with a sinking heart that another brain-storm might overtake him at any time. He had imagined that the thing would give a hint of its coming, but evidently it did not.

Mrs. Strange broke into his frowning meditation to ask, "How long since you had a night's sleep?"

"I--Oh, it must be weeks."

"Umph! I thought so. You puzzled that pill-roller, but doctors don't know anything, anyhow. Why, he wanted to wake you up to find out what ailed you! I threatened to scald him if he did."

"I seem to remember talking a good deal," Dave ventured. "I reckon I--said a lot of foolish things." He caught the look that pa.s.sed between his nurses and its significance distressed him.

Mrs. Strange continued: "That's how we guessed what your trouble was, and that's why I wouldn't let that fool doctor disturb you. Now that you've had a sleep and are all right again, I'm going home and change my clothes. I haven't had them off for two nights."

"Two nights!" Dave stared in bewilderment. Then he lamely apologized for the trouble he had caused, and tried to thank the women for their kindness.

He was shaky when, an hour later, he came down-stairs for breakfast; but otherwise he felt better than for many days; and Blaze's open delight at seeing did him as much good as the food he ate.

Dave spent the morning sunning himself on the porch, reading the papers with their exciting news, and speculating over the significance of his mental collapse. The more he thought of it now the more ominous it seemed. One result which particularly distressed him was the change it had wrought in Paloma Jones's bearing; for of a sudden the girl had become distant and formal. The reason was not far to seek; Dave could not doubt that the knowledge of his secret had frightened her. Well, that was to be expected--he would probably lose all his friends in time. It was a bitter thought; life would be very dull and flat without friends. He wondered how he could bear to see those who loved him turn away; to see their liking change to restraint and fear, as it threatened to do in Paloma's case. Better anything than that.

There was, however, one friend who, Dave knew, would not shun him; one of whose lasting affection he felt sure; and at memory of her he came to his feet. Montrosa would trust him. She had given him her heart, and her loyalty would never waver. With a clutch at his throat, and a little pain in his breast, he stumbled down the steps and went in search of her.

Now during Dave's absence Paloma had done her best to spoil the mare, and among other marks of favor had allowed her free run of the yard, where the shade was cool and the gra.s.s fine, and where delicious tidbits were to be had from the kitchen for the mere asking. In consequence, Dave did not go far until he was discovered. Montrosa signaled, then trotted toward him with ears and tail lifted. Her delight was open and extravagant; her welcome was as enthusiastic as a horse could make it. Gone were her coquetry and her airs; she nosed and nibbled Dave; she rubbed and rooted him with the violence of a battering-ram, and permitted him to hug her and murmur words of love into her velvet ears. She swapped confidence for confidence, too; and then, when he finally walked back toward the house, she followed closely, as if fearful that he might again desert her.

Phil Strange met the lovers as they turned the corner of the porch, and warmly shook Dave's hand. "Teeny--my wife--told me you was better," he began, "so I beat it out here. I hung around all day yesterday, waiting to see you, but you was batty."

"I was pretty sick," Dave acknowledged. "Mrs. Strange was mighty kind to me."

"Sick people get her goat. She's got a way with 'em, and with animals, too. Why, Rajah, the big python with our show, took sick one year, and he'd have died sure only for her. Same with a lot of the other animals.

She knows more'n any vet I ever saw."

"Perhaps I needed a veterinary instead of a doctor," Dave smiled. "I guess I've got some horse blood in me. See!" Montrosa had thrust her head under his arm and was waiting for him to scratch her ears.

"Well, I brought you some mail." Strange fumbled in his pocket for a small bundle of letters, explaining: "Blaze gave me these for you as I pa.s.sed the post office. Now I wonder if you feel good enough to talk business."