There could be no turning back on his resolve. His father’s offer was no inducement. Life at Lantern Marsh had taken all these years to reach its logical termination—he must go. To himself he owed something and the debt disturbed him. Beyond the confines of the present he dreamed of self development and a great happiness. He did not know how long he had sat at the table, thrilled by his new determination, but it must have been many minutes. He was suddenly disturbed by the sound of hurrying feet and by the woman’s voice, as she dashed into the kitchen.
“Maun!” she cried excitedly. “Get into Thompson’s gig and go get the doctor. Your father’s hurt!”
“What happened him?” asked Mauney, rising.
“Don’t know. He was in with the horses. Hurry Maun, fer God’s sake, I’m afraid he’s killed by the way Thompson ran out.”
Mauney ran across the yard to untie Thompson’s horse, but could see no evidence of tragedy. The sun lay heavily upon the manure pile and no sound disturbed the blue shadows of the stable windows. As he jumped into the sulky and, reaching for the whip, drove quickly down the lane, he saw the woman running toward the barn with a pail of water. His mind was a blank during that race to Beulah. He forgot everything that had turned in his brain a few moments before. He only felt that something horrible had happened. He caught mental images of his father’s face, rendered grotesque and abominable, but he put the pictures from him, and glanced for relief at the placid meadows along which he was flying at top speed. It seemed that he would never complete his journey when, all at once, he pulled up the lathered horse by Dr. Horne’s lamp post.
He jumped out and had run only half-way to the office door when he beheld the burly physician, bare-headed, carrying his satchel.
“What’s the matter, young fellow?” he asked.
“My father’s kicked by a horse,” Mauney quickly explained, “and I guess it’s bad.”
“Where is he?”
“Down in our barn.”