"No—yes; gimme some water, Jim; my mouth is dry as a powder mill."
"How yeh feelin', anyway, pardner?" said Hartley, as he brought the water.
"First rate, Jim; I guess I'll be all right."
"Well, I guess you'd better keep quiet."
Albert rose partly, assisted by his friend, and drank from the glass a moment; then fell back on his pillow.
"I don't feel s' well when I sit up."
"Well, don't, then; stay right there where you are. Oh-um!" gaped Hartley, stretching himself; "it's about time f'r breakfast, I guess. Want y'r hands washed and y'r hair combed?"
"I guess I ain't reduced to that yet."
"Well, I guess y' be, old man. Now keep quiet, or have I got t' make yeh?" he asked in a threatening tone which made Albert smile. He wondered if Hartley hadn't been sitting up most of the night; but if he had, he showed little effect of it, for he began to sing a comic song as he pulled on his boots.
He threw on his coat next, and went out into the kitchen, returning soon with some hot water, with which he began to bathe the wounded boy's face and hands as tenderly as a woman.