"Pat," he began, shoving him over gently,
"you're shore some cayuse. Wouldn't mind own-in'
a piece o' you myself. But I was goin' for to
say there's trouble come onto you. That mighty
likable pardner o' yours is gone in complete -- sick
to death. We've telephoned for the doc,
but he's off somewheres, and we've got to wait
till he gits back. But it's shore too bad -- all of
it. Steve he's got a nasty arm and shoulder,
and he's all gone generally. Mighty distressin'
I call it."

With this he slapped Pat heartily and left him.

When he had gone Pat felt a depression creeping
over him. It became heavier as the hours
passed. He knew that his young friend was
somewhere about, and could not understand why
he failed to come to him himself, instead of sending
this stranger. Then, with the hours lengthening
into a day, and the days dragging into a week,
with only the smiling stranger coming to him regularly,
and petting and stroking and talking to him,
he came to feel that something of grave and serious
nature was going on outside. So he longed to get
out of the stable, out into sunlight and away from
this restraint, and to see for himself what it was
that was holding his master from him.

Then late one afternoon he heard a step approaching.
It was his master's step, yet it was
very different. It was slow and dragging, and
while the voice was the same, yet there was a
note of hollowness as he spoke that did not belong
there, a note as if it required great effort to speak

[[258]]

p257 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p258w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p259

v?