The stranger led the way out of town, hurrying his mule forward with voice, switch and heels, and taking the main traveled road that led south beside the railroad track. Night was already settling, and to the left the scattered shafts of a cemetery gleamed white through the gathering dusk. Beyond the cemetery, where a dim road branched eastward across the rails toward the river, the guide drew up and dismounted and busied himself for a moment with the bridle of his mule. The doctor also reined and waited.
Presently his companion came walking back, leaving the mule tied to the railroad fence. “Doc,” he began, putting one hand on Bobby’s bridle and the other on the doctor’s knee, “don’t misunderstand what I’m going to say to you.”
“Yas? What’s that?” Of a sudden the doctor felt dislike and suspicion.
“Where I’m going,” continued the man deliberately, “you’ll have to travel blindfolded.”
The doctor did not speak for a moment. Again he was staring at the other, not so startled as he was amazed at this, the second queer call in a single day! Before he had finished puzzling over the half-crazed woman at Blue Top and the trio of armed men who had halted him, here was another mystery. Was the county gone mad?
“You’ve barked up the wrong tree, Mister,” he said finally, looking into the small eyes that were glinting up at him. “I’ve got just five dollars with me. Let me show y’.” He reached into a pocket. “That ain’t worth cuttin’ my throat for.”
A boisterous laugh greeted this. Then: “Cut your throat! Why, I’m not after money. I want a doctor. And I’m going to have a doctor.” Still holding to Bobby’s rein the stranger reached down and patted his right thigh. “I’ve never heard of taking a doctor to a sick man at the end of a gun,” he added, “but if you hold back that’s the way I’ll take you. Get down.”
The doctor dismounted.
“Turn around,” was the next order.
As the doctor obeyed a large, soft handkerchief was laid across his eyes and bound tight.