“You would have been too late,” returned the doctor sharply. “The machinery for your humiliation was already in motion. I doubt whether even the Governor could have stopped it in another day without a great deal of unpleasant publicity for you. Boyle meant to have this piece of land, and he got it. That’s all.”
Ten-Gallon was fooling around the fire. He drew over toward the group as the Governor came back.
“Can my son be removed from here?” the old man asked.
The doctor said that he could not, without practically throwing away his slender chance for life.
“Do for him what you can; you seem to be a capable man, sir; you inspire confidence in me,” said the Governor, laying his hand appealingly on the doctor’s shoulder; “and if you can save him, I’ll pay you twice what this infernal claim was worth to you!”
“I’ve done all that can be done for him, without hope or expectation of reward,” said the doctor; “and I’ll stick by him to the end, one way or another. We can care for him here as long as this weather holds, just as well as they could in a hospital.”
“Well, as far as what this claim’s worth goes,” put in Ten-Gallon, edging into the conversation, “you don’t need to lose any sleep over that.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Slavens, turning upon him sharply. 318
Ten-Gallon stirred the dust with his toe, stooped and picked up an empty revolver-cartridge.
“It ain’t worth that!” said he, presenting it in the palm of his hand.