"Well, there's no telling," the boy's guide said. "He don't look as though he could do much damage. He's a stranger around here. Don't talk like any of the usual crowd. I was a bit leery of him at first, but the lads seemed to cotton to him right off, so I let 'em have their way."
"Well, we'll see what he amounts to," Mr. Kent commented. "No harm in doing him a good turn I reckon."
It was quite dark when Jack, accompanying Jim and Deacon Pratt, another cowboy, started on the wagon trip. But after a bit the moon arose, and the journey was not so unpleasant. Jack was much interested in listening to the talk of the two men. They discussed everything from the latest make of cartridges and revolvers to the best way to rope a steer and brand a maverick.
"Let's see, we ought to be pretty near the place now," Jim remarked, after more than an hour's drive. "I think I see the big stone. Hark! What's that?"
A low moan was heard.
"That's him, I reckon," put in Deacon, who was driving. He swung the horse to one side, and Jim leaped down.
"He's, here!" Jim called. "Pretty bad shape, I'm afraid. Come here,
Deacon, and lend me a hand."
The two men lifted the aged man into the wagon, and placed him upon a pile of blankets, while Jack held the team.
"Do you think he's dead?" asked our hero.
"Not yet, but he don't look as if he could last long," Deacon replied. "I'll give him a bit of liquor. It may revive him," and he forced a few drops of the stimulant between the cold lips.