"It's mighty tough on the old man," coughed Brill, "not to mention his other troubles; but as he's got to know it sooner or later, my pard and me thought you'd better tell him."
"Wa'al, if I must I 'spose I must; but I tell you what, boys, I'd jest as soon you'd order me out to be shot. In fact I'd a heap sight rather be shot, if I was only sure that my dyin' would bring back young Sam Willett to life."
Brushing his sleeve across his eyes, Hank turned away to hide his feelings, and the partners went silently back to the cluster of tents and buildings that was known as "the camp."
We have already seen something of the love that existed between Mr. Willett and his son.
Apart from the affection natural to their relationship, these two were still more strongly attached to each other by the fact that they were alone in the world and the exclusive object of each other's most profound affections.
We shall not attempt to describe the manner in which Hank Tims communicated the news to the already much afflicted father, but it should be said that he acquitted himself with a tenderness hardly to be expected from one of his rough exterior and rude life.
There are blows so crushing to the human heart that they fall without being followed by a sign of pain or a cry of agony.
The sting of a bee will call out a shout from the strongest man, but the bullet that taps the fountain of life is received with ashy but silent lips.
All the color left Mr. Willett's face, and he fell back on the blankets on which he had been sitting.
He looked as if he were dying, and Hank, to redress the effects of the blow he had been forced to deal, sprang forward, and putting his arms about Mr. Willett's shoulder, he said, though he had not the slightest faith in his own words: