Two men were sent with them to assist in clearing a space at the foot of the big snag. A few minutes later the twang of the cross-cut, mingled with Blackie’s happy song, sounded above the crackling of the fire.
Wilkinson pointed to the southern sky, where heavy nimbus clouds were massing. “At last! The blessed rain is coming!” he cried in a voice of thankfulness.
A stronger gust swept through the valley to send a surge of flame from the giant cottonwood’s topmost branches. There was a sharp cry of warning as a limb broke off with a splinter-crash and came roaring to the ground, sending up a swirl of dust. A strangled cry of pain, animal-like in its intensity, cut the air.
“Blackie’s hit,” screamed Hoop-la.
Blackie lay on his face, his clothing afire, pinned down by the shattered limb. With a heave of powerful shoulders Hoop-la flung the crushing weight aside, and his big hands quickly smothered the fire in the clothing of his fallen comrade. Gently he raised the stricken man in his arms and bore him beyond the range of fire.
“Blackie! Oh, Blackie! are you all right?” he questioned fearfully as he looked down at the quiet face that held the grey pallor of death.
“Call the doctor and bring a stretcher,” sharply ordered Wilkinson.
Men hurried to do his bidding. When the stretcher bearers leaned to lift the inanimate body, Hoop-la fiercely interfered. “Let him alone,” he said savagely. Stooping, he picked up the light form and bore it down the hill to their bed in the rough log shack. Donald forced a few drops of brandy through the dying man’s colourless lips. Blackie stirred feebly. His eyes flickered open and he smiled as he recognized Hoop-la.
“Give me your hand,” he whispered faintly; “I’m runnin’ my last high-lead, old pal. I guess God’ll be good to us roughnecks.” He gasped painfully. The irregular breathing ceased; his eyes became fixed and glassy; his jaw sagged.
Hoop-la sat motionless, the hand of his dead friend held in his warm clasp. Slowly his head dropped forward and his big frame shook with dry racking sobs. Doctor Paul came in hurriedly. In answer to the look of interrogation in Donald’s eyes, he shook his head sadly.