Ashamed to reveal her fear, Harry forced herself to listen and to talk; but when they drew near the ranch her thoughts rushed forward, and she could think only of Rob. The moment they stopped at the corral she was out of the wagon, and with an apology to Mrs. Robinson for leaving her to unharness alone, she hurried across the slope. Her brother lay as she had left him, with one arm up, shielding his face from the flies that swarmed in the hot, sunny tent. He was awake, but feverish and in pain. Bringing a basin of water, Harry began to change the bandages. While she was busy, Mrs. Robinson appeared, with the baby in her arms.
"How about feedin' the critters?" she asked, as she declared her sympathy. "The pigs ain't been slopped nor the chickens fed, I expect. I don't see the cow nowheres. Like's not she's feedin' up in one of them draws along the hills. 'Slong's you ain't milkin' her it don't matter. She'll get back when she's thirsty. Now, don't you move," she added, as Rob tried to rise. "I'll see to the whole outfit."
"I'd forgotten all about the critters!" muttered Rob. He tried to lift himself, and then, sinking back with a gasp of pain, closed his eyes. "I certainly feel mean."
"You mustn't think of moving," protested Harry. "Mrs. Robinson is here. She's looking after everything. She's been awfully kind; telephoned to the doctor, drove me home, and everything."
A look of relief crossed Rob's face. He smiled, and murmured, "That's great!" and suddenly Harry realized that under their neighbor's matter-of-fact manner there had been more genuine kindness and a greater willingness to help than she had appreciated.
Harry longed to drop down beside Rob and sleep; never had she been so weary. But she realized that Mrs. Robinson must be hungry, for it was almost eight o'clock. Harry had built the fire and was moving stiffly about, trying to think what she could prepare from her meager supply of groceries, when Mrs. Robinson returned.
"Say now," the woman exclaimed, "you let me get supper! You're wore to a feather edge. I'll knock up a pan of hot bread and fry a little fat meat, and that'll do us, bein' as there's no men to cook for."
After supper, Harry and Mrs. Robinson washed the dishes. The doctor had not yet come, and the girl was worried.
"Well," said Mrs. Robinson, "it's a twenty-mile drive out here, and it was close on to six when I called him. There, now! Hear that? I guess that's him this minute."
Both women hurried outside. The silhouette of a horseman showed against the sky, and a voice called, "This Holliday's?"