“Yes, but it would be better if only two of you see him, and don’t stay long.”
Accordingly, while the others waited in the downstairs lobby, Hap and Jack followed a nurse into the ward. A screen had been set up at Old Stony’s bed to provide a measure of privacy.
As Mr. Livingston and Jack paused beside him, the old fellow opened his eyes and managed to grin feebly.
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, because he could think of nothing else to say.
“Not so hot,” Old Stony returned. His bloodless fingers plucked at the sheet. “Reckon I’m about ready to mount my pale white horse and ride to the last roundup.”
“Not at all,” Mr. Livingston tried to reassure him. “In a few days you’ll snap out of this. There’s fighting spirit in you, Stony.”
“Ah, there’s fight, but the old ticker’s getting mighty tired.”
Stony closed his eyes and for several minutes seemed almost to forget his visitors. They were debating whether or not to slip away quietly, when he aroused himself again.
“Pull up your chairs and listen close,” he said. “I’ve got to tell you something important.”
“Are you sure you feel strong enough to talk?” Mr. Livingston inquired doubtfully, as he and Jack brought their chairs to the bedside.