“What’s the date?” Terry queried. “I’ve forgot.”
“Fifth o’ January. To-day’s the sixth. It was December 10 when we camped yonder before.”
XV
NOT YET DEFEATED
Helped by Hugh Menaugh and Bill Gordon they might now travel on for the lieutenant’s camp. They had to cross several gulches and one or two ridges; then they came out into view of the dry valley, at the foot of which the Arkansaw issued from the mountains, to course eastward through the foothills and down to the plains far beyond.
It was the same valley. They might see again the Grand Peak, distant in the north, and mark the line of the river, nearer in the south. From the ridges they had been enabled to sight the Great Snow Mountains, also in the south and much farther than the Grand Peak in the opposite direction. Yes, this was the Arkansaw, and the lieutenant had missed his guess by a wide margin.
He was waiting at the camp. He greeted them kindly, but was haggard and seemed much cut up over the result of all his hard marches. No one could resist being sorry for him.
The doctor and John Brown were here, too. They had brought in six deer, so that now there was plenty of meat on hand.
It was two more days before the last of the men had straggled in. Meanwhile the doctor especially had been interested in the new “Jack Pursley,” otherwise Stub; had examined his head, and together with the lieutenant had asked him questions. But as Stub stuck to his story, they had to accept it; appeared rather to believe it—the doctor in particular.
Considerable of their talk, between themselves, Stub did not understand. There was something about “removal of pressure,” “resumption of activity,” “clearing up of brain area,” and so forth, which really meant nothing to Stub, except that now he knew who he was and the spot under his scar no longer burned or weighed like lead.