Without a word, Colonel Hawtrey drew a chair to the head of the bed and sat down to wait. And all the while he was waiting he never took his eyes from Jode’s unconscious face.
In less than twenty minutes the doctor was at the mine. Removing his coat, he rolled up his sleeves and went to work with professional briskness.
“What is your verdict, doctor?” inquired Colonel Hawtrey, after the examination had been finished.
“A fractured leg is about all the damage, colonel,” was the answer, “so far as I can see. He may be hurt internally, but I don’t think so. We’ll know more about that later on. Jode has been doing some great work, eh? He not only recovers the stolen mail bags and sends them to town, but he caps his exploits by saving your life, colonel. There must be something pretty fine about a fellow who can do all that.”
“Saved the mail bags?” repeated Hawtrey. “What do you mean by that?”
Just here Frank took the conversation into his own charge, and proceeded to tell the colonel all that had happened in Mohave Cañon. The colonel’s face was a little pale as he listened, but his expression did not undergo a change in any particular. He was an iron man, with an iron control of his feelings.
The doctor set the broken leg; then, when it was done, he took measures to revive the injured lad. Under the doctor’s ministrations it was not long before Jode opened his eyes.
At first his gaze was troubled and bewildered. Finally, realization came to him and he stretched out his hand to Merriwell.
“Chip,” said he, “we had to do it quick, but we did it well. I—I wonder how I ever had the nerve!”
“Never mind about that, old man,” answered Frank, with twitching lip and blurred eyes. “You saved the colonel. It was you, Jode. I had mighty little to do with it.”