Then she tore off to the 'Silver Queen,' and, book in hand, when she returned, she proceeded to issue instructions to the men, which they tried to obey to the letter.
But she had time to call Chops. 'Mount,' she said, 'mount my horse Renegade and fly for Dr Wilson.'
In a minute or two more, though white and breathless, Chops was off like the wild wind along the sands.
On how very small a thread the life of a human being sometimes—nay, but often—hangs! Lotty, it is true, was doing her best by the rules to revive the English stranger, if indeed there were the slightest sparks of life remaining in his heart; and wonderfully calm and determined she was, determined to do her little utmost until the doctor might come. And this, too, in spite of the words of discouragement cruelly meted out to her and her assistants every now and then by Biffins Lee.
'I don't think, boys, you can do much more. It is easy to see the man is dead. Better carry him up now. Poor fellow, he is in a better world than we are!'
Long after this these very words seemed to come back to Lotty in all their heartless force. But at present, hoping against hope, she bade the men persevere.
'The chances are'—this was Lee's last shot—'that Chops won't find the doctor at home at this time of the day.'
Now, the fact is, that at this very time good Dr Wilson was on his way walking to see a case about a mile from the camp.
Chops met him. He slid rather than jumped off the good Renegade, and the well-trained horse stood instantly still.
Chops had just strength enough to slip the bridle quickly into the doctor's hand. 'Ride,' he cried. 'Ride, doctor, for the love of our heavenly Father.'