“Can you ride?” snapped the colonel at Custer.
“Of course I can ride!”
“Then get out of here and take care of yourself. Will you go with him, Shannon? Have them call Dr. Baldwin.”
His rough manner did not conceal the father’s concern, or his deep love for his boy. That he could be as gentle as a woman was evidenced, when he dismounted, in the way that he helped Custer to his saddle.
“Take care of him, my dear,” he said to Shannon. “I’ll stay here and help the boys. Ask Mrs. Pennington to send the car out with some iced water or lemonade for them. Take care of yourself, boy!” he called after them as they rode away.
As the horses moved slowly along the dusty trail, Shannon, riding a pace behind the man, watched his profile for signs of pain, that she knew he must be suffering. Once, when he winced, she almost gave a little cry, as if it had been she who was tortured. They were riding very close, and she laid her hand gently upon his right arm, in sympathy.
“I am so sorry!” she said. “I know it must pain you terribly.”
He turned to her with a smile on his face, now white and drawn.
“It does hurt a little now,” he said.
“And you did it to save those two dumb brutes. I think it was magnificent, Custer!”