Wade laughed and tenderly put his arms around her, for weak though he was and with nerves twitching like those of a recently sobered drunkard, he was not too weak or sick to enjoy the privilege of soothing her. The feel of her in his arms was wonderful happiness to him and her tears for him seemed far more precious than all the gold on his land. He had just lifted her up on the sill of the open window, thinking that the fresh air might steady her, when she looked over his shoulder and saw Moran, who had regained consciousness, in the act of reaching for his revolver, which lay on the bed where she had tossed it.

"Oh, see what he's doing! Look out!"

Her cry of warning came just too late. There was a flash and roar, and a hot flame seemed to pa.s.s through Wade's body. Half turning about, he clutched at the air, and then pitched forward to the floor, where he lay still. Flourishing the gun, Moran got unsteadily to his feet and turned a ghastly, dappled visage to the girl, who, stunned and helpless, was gazing at him in wide-eyed horror. But she had nothing more to fear from him, for now that he believed Wade dead, the agent was too overshadowed by his crime to think of perpetrating another and worse one. He had already wasted too much valuable time. He must get away.

"I got him," he croaked, in a terrible voice. "I got him like I said I would, d.a.m.n him!" With a blood-curdling attempt at a laugh, he staggered out of the house into the sunshine.

For a moment Dorothy stared woodenly through the empty doorway; then, with a choking sob, she bent over the man at her feet. She shook him gently and begged him to speak to her, but she could get no response and under her exploring fingers his heart apparently had ceased to beat. For a few seconds she stared at the widening patch of red on his torn shirt; then her gaze shifted and focused on the rifle in the corner by the door. As she looked at the weapon her wide, fear-struck eyes narrowed and hardened with a sudden resolve. Seizing the gun, she c.o.c.ked it and stepped into the doorway.

Moran was walking unsteadily toward the place where he had tied his horse. He was tacking from side to side like a drunken man, waving his arms about and talking to himself. Bringing the rifle to her shoulder, Dorothy steadied herself against the door-frame and took long, careful aim. As she sighted the weapon her usually pretty face, now scratched and streaked with blood from her struggles with the agent, wore the expression of one who has seen all that is dear in life slip away from her. At the sharp crack of the rifle Moran stopped short and a convulsive shudder racked his big body from head to foot. After a single step forward he crumpled up on the ground. For several moments his arms and legs twitched spasmodically; then he lay still.

Horrified by what she had done, now that it was accomplished Dorothy stepped backward into the house and stood the rifle in its former position near the door, when a low moan from behind made her turn hurriedly. Wade was not dead then! She hastily tore his shirt from over the wound, her lips twisted in a low cry of pity as she did so. To her tender gaze, the hurt seemed a frightful one. Dreading lest he should regain consciousness and find himself alone, she decided to remain with him, instead of going for the help she craved; most likely she would be unable to find her mother and Barker, anyway. She stopped the flow of blood as best she could and put a pillow under the ranchman's head, kissing him afterward. Then for an interval she sat still. She never knew for how long.

Santry reached the house just as Mrs. Purnell and Barker returned with their berries, and the three found the girl bathing the wounded man's face, and crying over him.

"Boy, boy!" Santry sobbed, dropping on his knees before the unconscious figure. "Who done this to you?"

Dorothy weepingly explained, and when she told of her own part in shooting Moran the old fellow patted her approvingly on the back. "Good girl," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "But I wish that job had been left for me."

"Merciful Heavens!" cried Mrs. Purnell. "I shall never get over this."

With trembling hands she took the basin and towel from her daughter and set them one side, then she gently urged the girl to her feet.

"You!" said Santry, so ferociously to Barker that the man winced in spite of himself. "Help me to lay him on the bed, so's to do it gentle-like."

Dorothy, who felt certain that Wade was mortally hurt, struggled desperately against the feeling of faintness which was creeping over her. She caught at a chair for support, and her mother caught her in her arms.

"My poor dear, you're worn out. Go lie down. Oh, when I think...!"

"Don't talk to me, mother!" Dorothy waved her back, for the presence close to her of another person could only mean her collapse. "I'm all right. I'm of no consequence now. He needs a doctor," she added, turning to Santry, who stood near the bed bowed with grief. He, too, thought that Wade would never be himself again.

"I'll go," said Barker, eager to do something to atone for his absence at the critical moment, but Santry rounded upon him in a rage.

"You--you skunk!" he snarled, and gestured fiercely toward the bed. "He left you here to look after things and you--you went _berry pickin'_!"

Barker seemed so crushed by the scorn in the old man's words that Dorothy's sympathy was stirred.

"It wasn't Barker's fault," she said quickly. "There seemed to be no danger. Gordon said so himself. But one of you go, immediately, for the doctor."

"I'll go," Santry responded and hurried from the room, followed by Barker, thoroughly wretched.

Dorothy went to the bedside and looked down into Wade's white face; then she knelt there on the floor and said a little prayer to the G.o.d of all men to be merciful to hers.

"Maybe if I made you a cup of tea?" Mrs. Purnell anxiously suggested, but the girl shook her head listlessly. Tea was the elder woman's panacea for all ills.

"Don't bother me, mother, please. I--I've just been through a good deal.

I can't talk--really, I can't."

Mrs. Purnell, subsiding at last, thereafter held her peace, and Dorothy sat down by the bed to be instantly ready to do anything that could be done. She had sat thus, almost without stirring, for nearly an hour, when Wade moved slightly and opened his eyes.

"What is it?" She bent over him instantly, forgetting everything except that he was awake and that he seemed to know her.

"Is it you, Dorothy?" He groped weakly for her fingers.

"Yes, dear," she answered, gulping back the sob in her throat. "Is there anything you want? What can I do for you?"

He smiled feebly and shook his head.

"It's all right, if it's you," he said faintly, after a moment. "You're all right--always!"

CHAPTER XXII

CHURCH-GOING CLOTHES

After his few words to Dorothy the wounded man lapsed again into coma, in which condition he was found by the physician, who returned with Santry from Crawling Water. During the long intervening time the girl had not moved from the bedside, though the strain of her own terrible experience with Moran was making itself felt in exhaustive fatigue.

"Go and rest yourself," Santry urged. "It's my turn now."

"I'm not tired," she declared, trying to smile into the keen eyes of the doctor, who had heard the facts from the old plainsman as they rode out from town.

Wade lay with his eyes closed, apparently in profound stupor, but gave signs of consciousness when Dr. Catlin gently shook him. Dorothy felt that he should not be disturbed, although she kept her own counsel, but Catlin wanted to see if he could arouse his patient at all, for the extent of the injury caused by the bullet, which had entered the back in the vicinity of the spinal cord, could be gauged largely by the amount of sensibility remaining. The wounded man was finally induced to answer monosyllabically the questions put to him, but he did so with surly impatience. The physician next made a thorough examination, for which he was better fitted than many a fashionable city pract.i.tioner, by reason of his familiarity with wounds of all kinds.

When he arose Santry, who had watched him as a cat watches a mouse, forced himself to speak, for his throat and mouth were dry as a bone.

"Well, Doc, how about it?"

"Oh, he won't die this time; but he may lie there for some weeks. So far as I can tell the bullet just grazed the spinal cord, and it's the shock of that which makes him so quiet now. A fraction of an inch closer and he would have died or been paralyzed, a cripple, probably for life. At is it, however, barring the possibility of infection, he should pull through. The bullet pa.s.sed straight through the body without injury to any vital organ, and there is no indication of severe internal hemorrhage."

Santry moistened his lips with his tongue and shook his head heavily.

"What gets me," he burst out, "is that Gawd A'mighty could 'a' let a skunk like Moran do a thing like that! And then"--his voice swelled as though the words he was about to utter exceeded the first--"and then let the varmint get away from me!"

Dr. Catlin nodded sympathy with the statement and turned to Dorothy. She had been anxiously searching his face to discover if he were encouraging them unduly, and when she felt that he was not stretching the facts a tremendous weight was lifted from her mind.

"You are going to stay here?" he asked.

"Yes; oh, yes!" she answered.

"That's good." He opened his medicine case and mixed a simple antipyretic. "I'll explain what you're to do then. After that you better lay down and try to sleep. Wade won't need much for some days, except good nursing."

"I'm not tired," she insisted, at which he smiled shrewdly.

"I'm not asking you if you're tired. I'm telling you that you are. Those nerves of yours are jumping now. You've got our patient to consider first, and you can't look after him unless you keep well yourself. I'm going to mix something up for you in a few minutes and then you're going to rest. A nurse must obey orders."

He explained to her what she was to do for the patient and then gave her something to offset the effects of her own nervous shock. Then counseling them not to worry too much, for there would be no fatal result if his directions were followed, the physician mounted his horse and rode back to town. Such journeys were all in the day's work to him, and poor pay they often brought him, except as love of his fellow-men rewarded his spirit.

During the long days and nights that followed Dorothy scarcely left Wade's bedside, for to her mother now fell the burdens of the ranch household. From feeling that she never would be equal to the task of caring for so many people, Mrs. Purnell came to find her health greatly improved by her duties, which left her no opportunity for morbid introspection.