The boys lifted Higgins and placed him on an improvised couch in the corner, as Drew would not permit them to place him on the bed in the little back room.
By this time Hart Davis had become convinced that Isa Isban was not the girl he had married, although she looked so much like Vida that he was filled with wonder whenever he regarded her.
He asked her pardon for his actions of a short time before, but she gave him no heed, as she seemed fully intent on making the sheriff comfortable and restoring him to consciousness.
Hodge did not look at Davis, whom he hated with the utmost intensity, as he feared he would spring upon the man if he did so.
After a while, Higgins opened his eyes and stared around in a blank manner.
“Did we stop the mill, pards?” he huskily asked. “The whole herd was stampeded and goin’ like a cyclone down the range, horns clanking, eyes glaring, nostrils smoking and hoofs beating thunder out of the ground.”
“What is the man talking about?” asked Frank, in wonder.
“He was a cowboy once,” Isa explained. “He seems to be thinking of that time.”
“It was a wild ride through the night, wasn’t it, pards?” Higgins went on, although he did not seem to be speaking to any one in particular. “It was dark as ten million black cats, and the cold wind cut like a knife. But we stopped ’em—we stopped ’em at last.”
Then he turned his face toward the wall and closed his eyes.