Temple slipped from his saddle and stood shaking visibly, his face dead white, his eyes staring. Even in the moonlight they could all see the big drops of sweat on his forehead, glistening as they trickled down. He put out his hand to support himself by gripping at his saddle, missed blindly, staggered, and began slowly collapsing where he stood as though his bones were little by little melting within him. Blenham laughed harshly.
"Drunker'n a boiled owl," he grunted. "But jus' the same sober enough to know——"
"Dad!" cried Terry a second time, out in the road beside him now, her arms belting his slacking body. "It isn't just that. You——"
"Sick," moaned Temple weakly. "God knows—he's been hounding me to death—I don't know—I wanted to stop, to rest back there but—I'm afraid that——"
He broke off panting. Steve jumped out and slipped his own arms about the wilting form.
"Let me get him into the car," he said gently. And when he had lifted Temple and placed him in the seat he added quietly: "You'd better hurry on I think. Get a doctor for him. I'll follow on his horse."
Terry flashed him a look of gratitude, took her place at the wheel and started down grade. Her father at her side continued to settle in his place as long as Steve kept him in sight.
"Well?" growled Blenham, his voice ugly and baffled and throaty with his rage. "You butt in again, do you?"
Steve swung up into the saddle just now vacated by Temple.
"Yes," he retorted coolly. "And I'm in to stay, too, if you want to know, Blenham. To the finish."