CHAPTER IV THE SHADOWING HORSEMAN
Grey was completely surprised at himself as he leaped to his feet and hurried to Donnie's side. He could not account for the anxiety which now filled his heart. Had anyone suggested such a thing a week before he would have laughed him to scorn. Had the Major sent him in quest of a horse it would have stirred him about as much as going forth to find a stolen child. With him sentiment had no place in the undertaking. It was stern, iron duty, and nothing more. But this sudden interest was something for which he had not planned. The child sitting there before him was more than a mere pawn in this game he was playing. It appealed to his nature by its very helplessness and confiding manner. The pinched, drawn features, the frail cough-racked body and those large blue eyes looking so beseechingly up into his rough bearded face sent a peculiar thrill through his heart.
"What's wrong, old man?" he asked, placing his hand upon the little hot forehead. "Too much water, eh?"
At once Donnie stretched out his hands, and slipped from the Indian woman's lap.
"I wants my mother," he wailed. "Take me to my—" His words were cut short by another fit of coughing, and he stood trembling there, a pitiable figure of distress. At once Grey reached down, caught the child in his strong arms, and held him close to his breast.
"Can't you do anything for the boy?" he demanded, turning to the Indian woman standing near.
The latter slowly shook her head, and spoke a few quick words to her husband who was stirring the fire. Deliberately straightening himself up he confronted the constable.
"Can't you do something?" Grey repeated. "Baby sick. You savvey Injun medicine? You make him well?"
"Me no savvey," was the slow reply. "Me no ketch 'um root. Me notting here."
"But the child will die! See how he coughs."