"Mebby so. I hopes ye air ... but fust ye're a-goin' over thar with me ... an', because she'll be happier ef she thinks ye come of yore own free will.... I hain't a-goin' ter tell her ... thet I dragged ye thar ... like a sheep-killin' dog.... Ye're a-goin' ter let her think thet her hero has done come back ter her ... deespite death hitself."
"But—but——"
The young mountaineer broke out with something half sob and half muffled roar.
"Hell, thar hain't no but! I'm tellin' ye what ye air a-goin' ter do! With God's aid I aims ter keep ye alive thet long ... an' atter thet—I hain't takin' no heed what comes ter pass."
"Was ... that ... why you ... saved me?" The words were barely audible.
"What else would hit be? Did ye reckon hit war love for ther man thet hed done stole everything I counted dear—ther traitor thet betrayed my roof-tree? Did ye 'low thet hit war fer yore own sake I war openin' up ther war ergin, deespite ther fact that I knows hit'll make these hills run red with ther blood of my kith an' kin?"
Abruptly Bear Cat came to his feet and shouted into the darkness. Henderson saw two figures detach themselves from the inky void and come forward.
Then as they lifted him he swooned with pain.
CHAPTER XVI
Dog Tate had left his mash kettle unguarded that night, putting clan loyalty above individual interest as he hastened off to stir into action the dwellers of the Stacy cabins, and to dispatch other night-riders upon the same mission. But he sent Joe Sanders, his assistant, to convoy the wounded men along their road. They went at a labored and snail-like pace, Sanders walking on one side of the horse, supporting the swooning figure it bore, while Turner Stacy trudged at the other saddle skirt. Sometimes Bear Cat plodded on with fair erectness, setting his teeth against weariness and pain, but at other times the intermittent waves of fever rose scaldingly until, in a blind fog, he dragged shuffling feet, clinging grimly the while to pommel and stirrup-leather as his head sagged forward between his shoulders. Sometimes, too, he mumbled incomprehensible things in a voice that was weirdly unnatural. From time to time there was a halt to make sure that the life spark still flickered, though tenuously and gutteringly, in the breast of the inert thing lashed to the saddle.