IN the Cañada del Oro, Doctor Burton and his mother watched beside the old prospector and the wounded Mexican.
The man who had been so heartlessly abandoned by his outlaw leader did not speak; but his eyes, like the eyes of a wounded animal, followed every movement of Saint Jimmy and Mother Burton. But as the days and nights of suffering passed, and he received nothing but the gentlest and most attentive care from the two good Samaritans into whose hands he had fallen, the expression of suspicion and fear which had at first marked his every glance gave way to a look of wondering and pathetic gratitude.
It was late in the afternoon of that first day following the tragedy, when Thad regained consciousness. Saint Jimmy, who was at the bedside when the sturdy old prospector looked up at him with a smile of recognition, said cheerfully:
“Good morning, neighbor. How are you? Had a good sleep?”
There was the suggestion of a twinkle in those faded blue eyes as Thad returned:
“There ain’t no need for you to pretend none with me, Doc. I come to, quite a spell back. Got a peek at you, though, first thing when you weren’t lookin’ an’ I jest naterally shut my eyes again quick. I been layin’ here, figgerin’ things out. Got ’em about figgered, I reckon.” His leathery, wrinkled, old face twisted in a grimace of pain and his gray lips quivered as he added: “They got my gal, didn’t they?”
Saint Jimmy returned gravely:
“You must be careful not to excite yourself, Thad. You have had a dangerous injury.”
“Holy Cats! You don’t need to think this is the first time I ever been knocked out. My old head is tougher than you know. You don’t need to worry about me gettin’ rattled neither. I tell you I know what happened up to the time that half Mex devil hit me with his gun. I know they must a-got her or she would a-been settin’ right here, certain sure—tell me.”
“Yes, they took her away, but Hugh Edwards and Natachee are on their trail.”