"I never knew there was such fun at funerals" he soliloquized while returning from the cemetery. He bit a large piece out of his "chewing"

and gazed around him. "Doggone it" he muttered, "if this ain't the worst town in California for killin's. I never did see such a one-horse camp with such a big potter's field. If I wasn't a inquisitive old hunks I'd get out of such a pesky hole P. D. Q. I wouldn't a' come back in the first place if it hadn't a' been for that Joe person. Dog-gone him!"

This was quite true. For some months Mr. Hennage had been running a game in Bakersfield, which, at that time, was a wide open town, just beginning to boom under the impetus of rich oil strikes. It had been one of his diversions, outside of business hours, to walk down to the freight yards once a week and fraternize with the railroad boys. In this way he managed to keep track of affairs in San Pasqual. Upon the occasion of his last trip to the freight yards he had spied Mrs.

Pennycook's brother dodging into an empty box-car. Mr. Hennage had seen this worthy upon the occasion of his (Joe's) last visit to San Pasqual, the object of the said visit having been imparted to him by Dan Pennycook himself. Having no money available for the blackmailer, poor Pennycook had come to Hennage to borrow it. Upon the occasion of the payment of the loan, Pennycook informed Mr. Hennage joyfully that Joe was out of the way for fifteen years and Mr. Hennage had rejoiced with the yardmaster. Hence, when Mr. Hennage observed Joe sneak into the box-car, he at once surmised that Joe was broke and headed for San Pasqual to renew his fortunes. Having a warm spot in his heart for Dan Pennycook, Mr. Hennage instantly decided to follow Joe in another box-car, which, in brief, is the reason why he had returned to San Pasqual.

Presently Mr. Hennage paused and glanced across the blistering half-mile of desert, to where the sun glinted on the dun walls of the Hat Ranch.

In the middle distance a dashing girlish figure in a blue dress was walking up the tracks.

Mr. Hennage's three gold teeth flashed like heliographs.

"This world is so full o' a number o' things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings"

he quoted, and walked across to meet her.

CHAPTER VII

Early in the forenoon of the day following Bob McGraw's spectacular advent into San Pasqual, the nurse for whom Doc Taylor had telephoned to Bakersfield arrived at the Hat Ranch. She proved to be a kind middle-aged woman, devoted to her profession and thoroughly competent to do everything for Bob McGraw that could be done. Her arrival released Donna from the care of watching the wounded man, and she rested at last.

It was late in the afternoon before she appeared again in the sick room, when she was overjoyed to learn of the change in Bob's condition. There was no further hemorrhage from the wound, although his pulse was racing at several degrees above normal. He was awake when Donna entered the room and greeted her with a weak smile of welcome. It may be that at the moment Mr. McGraw fondly hoped that he might be further rewarded with another kiss; but if so he was disappointed. Donna favored him with nothing more tangible than a rather sad, wistful, interested scrutiny, and then, satisfied that he was making his fight, she turned to leave the room, whereupon Mr. McGraw, disregarding his nurse's explicit instructions, presumed to enter into conversation.

"h.e.l.lo, Donna," he whispered, "aren't you going to speak to a fellow?"

Donna shook her head.

"But I might die" he pleaded piteously. The nurse intervened.

"n.o.body's worried over that remote contingency," she retorted, "so do not endeavor to seek sympathy."

He looked at her so tragically that she could not forbear a little laugh, as she ordered Donna to leave the room.

"The right of free speech--and free a.s.semblage," Mr. McGraw protested hoa.r.s.ely, "is guaranteed to--every American citizen--under the con--"

"Silence!" commanded the nurse.

Mr. McGraw muttered something about gag rule and the horror of being mollycoddled, sighed dismally and predicted his death within the hour.

Donna left the room and he was forced to amuse himself, until he fell asleep, watching the antics of an inquisitive lizard which in turn was watching him from a crack in the sun-baked adobe wall. As for Donna, the very fact that Bob was still a fighter and a rebel proved conclusively that within a week he would be absolutely unmanageable. This thought was productive of such joy in Donna's heart that she became a rebel herself.

In the bright evening she took her guitar and went out into the patio, where she stood under Bob's window and sang for him a plaintive little Spanish love song. Donna's voice, while untrained, was, nevertheless, well pitched, sweet and true, and to Bob McGraw, who for three years had not heard a woman's voice raised in song, the simple melody was a treat indeed.

The nurse came out, looked at her and laughed, as who would not; for all the world loves a lover, and the nurse was very human.

"That's quite irregular, Miss Corblay," she commented, "but in this particular case I believe it has a soothing effect. Mr. McGraw has promised me that he will be very good if I can induce you to sing for him every evening. He said 'Bravo' three times."

"Then he has decided not to die after all."

"I think he has changed his mind."

"I'll sing him to sleep" Donna answered--and forthwith did so. And that night, when she retired, she could not sleep herself for the happiness that was hers; that excessive happiness which, more poignant than pain, is often productive of tears.

The wounded man slept well that night. If he suffered n.o.body knew it.

In the morning his condition was slightly improved, and after hearing a most cheerful and favorable report from both doctor and nurse, Donna decided not to prejudice her position at the eating-house by staying away another day, and accordingly she set off up the track to the town.

She was half-way there when she observed Harley P. Hennage walking toward her from the direction of the cemetery.

"Well, Miss Donna," he began as he approached, "how are you after the battle?"

"Still a little shaky, Mr. Hennage, but not enough to prevent my going to work. I can count change, to-day, I think."

"Good news, good news. If I was governor of this state I'd declare to-day a legal holiday. How's the wounded hero? Able to sit up and take some food?"

"No, no food as yet. Nothing but nutriment. Who ever heard of a sick man getting anything but that?"

Mr. Hennage showed his three gold teeth. "Ain't Mrs. Pennycook been down with a plate o' calf's-foot jelly or somethin' o' that nature?" he asked.

It was Donna's turn to laugh. "I hardly think she'll come. She hasn't given me a friendly look in three years."

"Well, of course, you haven't needed her," the gambler reminded her, "but she'll be droppin' in before long, now--Bob McGraw's a stranger in town, an' ent.i.tled to the kindly services o' the community as a whole, so Mrs. P. can show up at the Hat Ranch under those conditions without unbendin' her dignity."

"I suppose she is kind enough in her way," Donna began, "but--"

"You don't like her way, eh?"

"I'm afraid I'm inclined to be uncharitable at times."

"Nonsense!" he corrected. "Ain't you been a' nursin' the sick?"

"Yes. Which reminds me that you, also, have been performing one of the works of mercy. You came from the cemetery, did you no?!"

"Yes, I've been buryin' the dead. They had me as witness on the coroner's jury last night, an' after the jury decided that it was justifiable homicide, there was nothin' to do but plant the three o'

'em--before the sun got too high. But let's take up some live topic--"

Again Donna laughed, for while Harley P.'s humor was rather grim, Donna had lived long enough in San Pasqual to appreciate it. The big gambler loved to see her laugh, and the thought that she was courageous enough to enjoy his jest, considering the terrible experience which she had lately undergone, filled him with manly admiration.

"It's another joke," he began presently, "only this time it's on San Pasqual. I want to put up a job on the town, an' you've got to help me, Miss Donna."

Donna gave him a graceful travesty of a military salute.

"'Onward, Heart of Bruce, and I will follow thee,'" she quoted. "But before you explain your plans, tell me what has poor little San Pasqual been doing of late to earn your enmity?"

"Nothin' much. The town ain't no worse than any other one-horse camp for wantin' to know everybody's business but its own. They never found out any o' mine, though, you can bank on that; and it always hurt 'em because they never found out any of your poor mother's when she was livin'. An' since your trouble the other night, they're all itchin' to learn the name o' the brave that saved you. Some o' the coroner's jury was for callin' you to testify at the inquest, but considerin' the hard looks o' the deceased an' what you told me--an' what Borax O'Rourke told everybody else before he left town yesterday, I prevailed on Doc Taylor to testify that you weren't in no fit frame o' mind to face the music, so they concluded to bring in a verdict _muy p.r.o.nto,_ an' let it go at that. They tell me there's been a plague o' hard characters droppin' off here lately, an' anyway, to make a long story short, the boys rendered a verdict on general principles an' there ain't no news for the rest o' the town--particularly the women. The way some o' them women's been dodgin' back and forth between their own homes and the post-office, you'd think it was the finish of a jack-rabbit drive. They're just plumb _loco,_ Miss Donna, to find out the name o' this gallant stranger that saved you. They want to know what he looks like, the color o' his hair an' how he parts it, how he ties his necktie, an' if he votes the Republican ticket straight and believes in d.a.m.nation for infants."

"I see," said Donna, "and you want to let them suffer, do you?"

"I wouldn't wag my tongue to save 'em" he retorted bitterly. "Now here's the programme. You've got young McGraw bottled up there at the Hat Ranch, and I want you to keep him there until he's able to walk away without any a.s.sistance, an' all that time don't you let n.o.body see him. I've got Doc Taylor fixed already, which was easy, Doc bein' a bachelor--an' now if you stand in we'll have 'em goin' south. On account o' bein' postmistress an' in a position to get all the news, the town's lookin' to Miss Pickett to produce, an' if she can't produce, I'm hopin'

she'll go into convulsions."

"Mr. Hennage," said Donna, "this is most unworthy of you. I didn't think you would harbor a grudge."