It was an anxious day for Letty. The doctor spent it in work after he had had his rest, and at six o’clock opened his medicine-case to put into it one or two things that had been lacking the previous night. When sundown came and the long, grateful twilight, he paid a visit to Bobby. Then he lighted the lamp in his office and sat down to wait. Dark brought the looked-for summons. The front gate squeaked on its hinges. Heavy steps sounded along the narrow boardwalk leading up to the porch. Next, following a short pause, came a knock.
The doctor opened the door. The man with the scar was in waiting. He kept out of range of the light that fell through the door, but the doctor could see that the face of his visitor was again half hidden by a handkerchief and that the slouch hat was worn low to shadow it.
“My friend’s suffering awful,” he said by way of greeting. “All over the place, Doc. I felt almost like putting him out of his misery.”
At once the doctor went for Bobby. An eager whinny hailed the opening of the stable door. But when the little horse was led out of his stall he hung back and all but refused to leave it. “You’ll have some supper out yonder,” promised his rider, and tied a generous feed of oats to the thongs of the big stock saddle.
A slender figure came swiftly across the corral. It was Letty, and she lifted her face to the doctor’s in mute anxiety. He whispered encouragement and bent to kiss her, then rode out to join his waiting guide.
The second trip to the cañon was, in every way, like the first except that it was made more quickly. When the clearing was reached and the doctor’s eyes were unbound he saw that there was no patch of light beyond the low shanty. “Didn’t dare leave a lamp,” explained the man with the scar as he cautiously opened the door. After he had peered in; listening, he entered quietly and struck a match.
The sick man was on the floor, stretched prone. His eyes were wide, but unseeing. His breathing was laboured.
They lifted him gently and laid him on the bed. Then the doctor, coat off, once more began his ministering, while the man with the scar seated himself on a bench by the door and smoked. The doctor paid the other no attention, but apparently gave his whole thought to his patient. Nevertheless, as he worked he kept on the alert for sounds, and, when his back was turned toward his guard, examined the wall against which stood the head of the bed.
He noticed that which made him certain that the shanty had a second, if a very small, room. Two of the upright foot-wide boards of the wall had been sawed across at a height of six feet from the floor. A few moments later he purposely dropped the cork of a bottle. As he stooped to feel about for it he gave a quick look at the lower ends of the sawed boards. Unlike the others in the wall, they cleared the floor by half an inch. It was probable that they formed a narrow, blind door; that the wall itself was a partition. He determined to be certain about it. “Fetch me some right cold water,” he said to the man with the scar.
For a moment the other remained seated and made no answer. Then, “All right,” he said reluctantly and, picking up a square kerosene can that had been fitted with a handle, went out.