“Yes. Showed up here late and said he had found the man and carried him into the cabin. Said his wrecked car was still burning, so the accident couldn’t have occurred very long previous. Said we ought to bring him down immediately as he was badly hurt. So I sent word to Dr. Hosmer, and my girl and I set off at once, the sheepherder going back with us. Said he just happened to be looking for a stray sheep or he would never have come on this man, as he was heading his band for a pass to get over on the west side of the range. S’pose we’ll never see him again.”
“Do you know who this man is?”
“His face seems sort of familiar,” Johnson replied, scratching his chin. “But he looks like a city chap, by his clothes, what’s left of them. No papers or anything on him to tell his name. Might have come over the pass himself from the other side; men go everywhere in these hill-climbing cars they make nowadays.”
“Somebody will be seeking information soon and then we’ll know,” the physician said. “He’ll probably give his name and address himself when he comes round. But 195 if I’m not mistaken he’ll need another sort of car if he does any moving about when he’s out of bed.”
“Why’s that?”
“Speaking off-hand, I’ll say he’ll never walk again. That’s the way broken hips usually turn out; and if his spine is injured, as I suspect, he will probably be paralyzed from the waist down. Hard luck for a young man like him. He’ll wish at times he was killed outright.”
Unobserved by the speaker Weir and Johnson exchanged a meaningful look. In the minds of both moved the same thought, that Providence had punished Ed Sorenson according to his sins and more adequately than could man. Dreadful years were before him. He would, in truth, wish a thousand times that he had died at the foot of the ledge.
Half an hour later the visitors had departed, the rancher going with the physician and his charge to Bowenville, Weir returning to San Mateo. Mary had driven the wagon up from the mouth of the canyon, unharnessed the horses, watered and fed them, and now was seated in the kitchen staring absently out the open door. After so much excitement she felt distrait, depressed.
Finally she produced and dried the papers over the stove, in which she had re-kindled a fire.
“Funny how anybody should want to talk or write anything but English,” she remarked to herself, gazing at the pages.