“Letty—you care!” He let her hand fall, for his own was trembling. “Oh, you bet I’ll do my best. This is my chance. I’m bankin’ on it.”
“Take my horse for the trip. Bobby wasn’t out of the barn yesterday, and I’m pickling figs to-day. Please do.”
“All right, I’ll be glad to.”
A few minutes later, when he rode out of the corral, canvas case tight-strapped to his back, he was mounted on a spirited little mustang whose bright eyes watched through a bushy forelock. The gate was left in a rushing gallop. And from down the street, where the doctor turned into the Blue Top road, he waved a hand back to Letty. Then he cantered on.
It was fifteen miles to the mine, all up grade and rough going. But Bobby kept a quick pace; and his rider, fixing his look hopefully ahead, gave no thought to the road. Two things ran constantly in the doctor’s mind: “We want you up here” and “Come prepared for anything.” The more he thought of the statements the more he felt certain about the success of his trip. They surely meant him to remain at the mine. That was why he had been asked to bring as much of his equipment as possible.
“Halt!”
It was Bobby who obeyed the command. Out of the thick brush that lined the grade had stepped three men, blocking his way. The trio carried rifles across their arms.
“Who are you?” demanded one of the three. He was a smooth-shaven, thick-set, middle-aged man with hard, milky-blue eyes and soft, fat cheeks that pouched heavily, drawing his under lids down to show a scarlet lining.
“Doctor.”
“Oh!—I see. Good work.” The thick-set man fell back a step and gave a sidewise jerk of the head. It was permission to ride on. Then he led his companions across the road and into the chaparral.