as they came triumphant from their long fight with their dreadful sickness, triumphant because of the goodness of God and the skill of Dr. Gilchrist, he was to be drawn from them into the dread shadow from which they were emerging. This he struggled to ignore, filling his mind with thoughts of his wife and little boy won back to health, seeking through the hours of waiting to picture them as they would look now.
He shook his head when Steele asked softly if he were suffering unbearably; he nodded when water was proffered him; he spoke not at all, harbouring his strength, until his ears heard the faint drumming of horses' hoofs. Then he drew Steele toward him with a look and said quietly:
"They're coming! … I wanted to tell you first; I think it was Embry that got me. Can't swear to it, but some one shot twice and as I went down said, 'Damn you, Steele; take that to hell with you.' Couldn't make him out but his voice … sounded like Embry's. … Prop me up a little now, Bill. I want to see her when she comes in."
But it was Dr. Gilchrist, not Rose Hurley. A quick eyed, nervous looking man of middle age, who while setting down his bag and jerking off his coat was commanding a basin of water and another lamp lighted if they had one.
"Now," he said briskly, "who's needing me first?"
Steele pointed to Ed Hurley's bunk and for a moment turned away, staring out into a world of pale light and thinning shadows, thinking regretfully how, just to save Ed to Rose and Eddie he had sent him out to
