At the tent Overland laid Collie on the blankets, bathed and bandaged the wound, and watched his low pulse quicken to the stimulant that he gave him in small doses.
"It's the shock as much as the wound," said Overland. "He got it close, and from behind—from behind do you hear?"
Winthrop, startled by the other's intensity, stammered: "What shall I do? What shall I do?"
Overland bit his nails and scowled. "You will ride to town. Collie's hoss is here. Take the Guzzuh and burn the road for Los and get a doctor. Not a pill doctor, but a knife man. Bring the car clean back here to the range. To hell with the chances."
Winthrop slipped into his coat and filled a canteen.
"If that horse throws me—" he began.
"You got to ride. You got to, understand? I dassent leave him."
Down in the meadow Overland saddled the pony Yuma. He mounted and she had her "spell" of bucking. "Now, take her and ride," said Overland. "After you hit the level, let her out and hang on. If any one tries to stick you up this time—why, jest nacherally plug 'em. Sabe?"
Two hours later a wild-eyed, sweating pony tore through the desert town at a run. Her rider slid to the ground as the liveryman grabbed the pony's bridle.