The worst drouth in the history of Arizona was over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Doctor Powell, who had returned from Los Angeles a few days previously, was following Chappo about the garden after supper, praising the flowers the little Mexican had planted and cultivated with such success. Limber, coming from the stable after a final visit to see that the horses were all right for the night, noticed a rider on the road from the Circle Cross.
"Juan is coming," announced the cowpuncher.
Powell turned quickly. "I hope nothing is wrong."
They walked toward the gate. Juan dismounted, slipped the reins over his pony's head and held a note to Powell, saying, "From La Señora. El Señor Glendon is seek."
The doctor hastened into the house, lighted a lamp and read;
Dear Doctor:
Will you come back with Juan? My husband is ill. He had a severe chill, but is now in a stupor and I cannot rouse him. I do not know what is the matter. Please hurry, for I am much alarmed.
Sincerely yours,
Katherine Glendon.
Powell returned to the porch and questioned Juan, who told him Glendon had not been well for a couple of days and had refused to allow his wife to consult the doctor as she had wished to do.