He looked at her in mild surprise.
“What was there magnificent about it? It was my duty. My father has always taught me that the ownership of animals entails certain moral obligations which no honorable man can ignore—that it isn’t sufficient merely to own them, and feed them, and house them; but to serve and protect them, even if it entailed sacrifices to do so.”
“I don’t believe he meant that you should give your life for them,” she said.
“No, of course not; but I am not giving my life.”
“You might have.”
“I really didn’t think there would be any danger to me,” he said. “I guess I didn’t think anything about it. I saw those two beautiful animals, who had been working there for me so bravely, helpless at the edge of that fire, and I couldn’t have helped doing what I did under any circumstances. You don’t know, Shannon, how we Penningtons love our horses. It’s been bred in the bone for generations. Perhaps it’s silly; but we don’t think so.”
“Neither do I. It’s fine.”
By the time they reached the house she could see that the man was suffering excruciating pain. The stableman had gone to help the fire fighters, as had every able-bodied man on the ranch, so that she had to help Custer from the Apache. After tying the two horses at the stable, she put an arm about him and assisted him up the long flight of steps to the house. There Mrs. Pennington and Hannah came at her call and took him to his room, while she ran to the office to telephone for the doctor.
When she returned, they had Custer undressed and in bed, and were giving such first aid as they could. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him, as he fought to hide the agony he was enduring. He rolled his head slowly from side to side, as his mother and Hannah worked over him; but he stifled even a faint moan, though Shannon knew that his tortured body must be goading him to screams. He opened his eyes and saw her, and tried to smile.
Mrs. Pennington turned then and discovered her.