Whatever she had done, he could not leave her so. He strained until she lay partly across his shoulder—a weight it would have been joy for him to bear a few short hours before—and so, staggering under his burden, he strove toward Diversity.
Long miles lay between him and town; no help was nearer; no shelter for Marie. He found himself near the point of exhaustion. But he labored on.
After a length of time that seemed to have stretched into hours Jim was aware of the dark figure of a man standing between the tracks before him.
Somehow Jim was not interested in it, was not interested in anything save the effort to keep on his feet and make progress. The man spoke with a voice Jim knew but did not identify.
“Who are you?” Jim asked, in a whisper.
“Gilders,” said the man. “Here, I’ll take her. You carry my rifle. You’ve lugged her about as far as you can, hain’t you?”
“All of that,” Jim said, surrendering his burden and sitting down abruptly.
“Rest a bit,” said Gilders. “When you’re ready, say so. We’ll take her to my place—it’s nearer ’n Diversity.”
Presently Jim got to his feet.
“All right,” he said.