They stooped, shouldering close. Hilda could see nothing but their backs. She felt a sick shutting-in at the heart as they lifted. Then came Uncle Hank’s voice again.
“Did we hurt you, Charley?”
They were placed now, three on a side, ready to take up the blanket. Hilda could see her father. His eyes were still closed, but his lips shaped themselves into an unheard “No.” Cautiously they stepped out on the mile trip to the ranch house. Hilda ran beside them, crouched a little, her hand out, not quite touching them. She moved like a young partridge, startled from cover, and out of her eyes fear looked. Over on the playground school was turning out. Thin and clear came the treble whoops, as soon as they had left the noise of the roundup sufficiently behind them. It was very strange to think that over there they didn’t know; for them it was prisoner’s base and the multiplication table, just as it had been this morning.
When the journey was little more than half done, the six bearers stepping with infinite care, Van Brunt began to groan aloud. Uncle Hank was walking at his head, watching his face.
“Where hurts you boy? Does it joggle past bearin’? Ought we put you down and rest you a spell?”
He failed to catch the whispered reply at first. The bearers halted, and he leaned closer.
“No.” Van Brunt motioned feebly with his hand. “Get on, boys ... I want to see the baby, before—”
The big fellows carrying the blanket moved ahead, stepping short, watching pitifully. Charley groaned outright at every stride now; Hilda, beside him, moaned, too. Her eyes were so blinded with crying that she did not see the ranch house when it came in sight. Going up the long, tree-lined avenue to the front door, Uncle Hank bent and spoke to her.
“Go in ahead, Pettie. Tell your aunt that your father’s bad hurt, and we’re bringing him.”
Hilda had a sense of flying, of getting to the house at a single step. It happened that Aunt Val was just coming down the stairs. Hilda cried out her communication as it had been given, and turned back to the bearers, who were toiling up the porch steps.