Eastman only groaned and hung up. But later on he telephoned again and again, always with some fresh idea that was filling the heart of the waiting mother with forebodings.
Letty telephoned, too. “Don’t go alone to-night,” she begged. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I got to, Letty,” he declared. “If Eastman starts men out, which way’ll they go? It might take ’em a week to find that shanty.”
Night settled early, for long before twilight the sky became heavily overcast and a wind rose, sweeping the dust up in clouds as it drove through the town, and auguring a rainstorm. The doctor placed a light in his office, then took his station at a window in an unlighted front room.
The minutes dragged. Eight o’clock struck, and nine.
“Mebbe that sick feller did die,” he said to Letty over the telephone. “But——”
He hung up the receiver abruptly. There was a sound of galloping in the street. It ceased at the gate, when heavy steps came hurrying to his porch. It was the man with the scar.
“Doc,” he began, panting with his hard ride, “you said you’d operate——”
“Ready in a jiffy,” answered the doctor, and turned away to pick up hat and case.
The next instant there was a choking cry from the porch, then loud curses and the sound of fierce scuffling. The doctor whirled.