“If I don’t git to Bill,” said the doctor, “he’ll be dead before that.” He looked at the man with the scar.
“Eighteen hours!” repeated Eastman miserably.
Now the sheriff advanced upon his prisoner. “You’re going to take me to that cabin,” he said threateningly. “You don’t think so now, but I can make you change your mind. Come along.” He seized his prisoner by a shackled arm and jerked him toward the gate.
Eastman started after the two, pleading incoherently. But half-way to the gate he stopped. A girl blocked the walk. It was Letty.
“Depend on the doctor,” she said. “He took his life in his hands to find the boy. He was going to risk it again to bring him to you. And he didn’t even know there was a reward.”
Eastman turned and went stumbling back.
“But he doesn’t know the way,” he protested. “He said he didn’t.”
In answer, the doctor took his arm and led him down the street to the wide gate opening into Bobby’s corral. “I’ll have a horse here for you in a minute,” he said. “I’ll ride this one. You see, there’s another scheme. But it really don’t depend on me—it depends on this little bronc.”
When Bobby was saddled and bridled Letty put her cheek against his soft nose. “Do your best,” she whispered; and to his rider: “Don’t fail.”
The doctor took both her hands in his. “I’m a-goin’ to make it,” he declared. “Stay with the boy’s maw, little gal, till we come.”