Chapter XVIII

An Enemy

There was water in the grove, and the men
made camp at the edge of the trees. "The
Doc," which was what the rangers early had
affectionately nicknamed Stephen, was suffering a
compound fracture of the left arm, together with
numerous bruises and scratches about the head
and face. He had had a nasty fall. His horse
had stumbled and almost instantly died as the
result of the big cattle-rustler's shots. The men set
and splinted Stephen's arm as best they could,
and they bandaged his head with rare skill; but
it was deemed advisable for him to remain quiet
for a time.

So Stephen lay listlessly smiling at the bantering
of the men, too sick at heart really to take interest
in any living thing. His arm pained him, and
his head ached, while throughout his body he was
sore and stiff and well-nigh incapable of moving.
But not once following the first complete collapse
did he let go of himself, although when the men
set his arm it seemed that he must. Somehow he
was contented that everything was as it was.

True, he was hurt. But also he had found Pat,

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v?