“It is probably the fellow they told us of in Pittsburg,” Kingdom answered. “I am glad he hasn’t tried to shoot the horses; maybe he will let them alone. We will have to build a lean-to for them, right away.”
In a few minutes the journey which had taken so long was over. The cart of the young pioneers was drawn up before the cabin door, and there was so much to be done in the next hour or two that the prowling Redskin might have been more successful in his secret attacks than he had yet been, had he improved the opportunity. Fortunately he did not, and in a short time a bright fire was driving the chill, damp air from the little log house, and a bed was fixed up in a snug corner and Theodore Hatch was carried to it. The horses were watered and tethered near the door, and a late dinner was prepared by John, while Ree proceeded with the unloading of the cart.
Though still unconscious and so weak that he could scarcely lift his hand, his threshing about and calling out in delirium long since over, no one seemed to feel the change in the situation more than did the wounded stranger. As was his custom, Ree gave him the best attention in his power, before eating his own dinner, and as he did so, could not but notice the change for the better which his patient showed. And he was not greatly surprised by the greater change soon following.
Sitting astride a chest, a pewter plate between them, the young pioneers were eating their noonday meal when a groan came from the stranger’s rude couch. Immediately Ree was at the man’s side to make his position more comfortable, and John arose to help, if necessary.
Slowly the Quaker’s eyes opened. Slowly there came into them a gleam of intelligence he had not hitherto shown. Ree stooped to adjust the coarse pillow under the injured head.
“I fear I have been ill. What place is this, young friend?”
It was the voice of Theodore Hatch, low and weak, but clear and sane. No sound could have given Return Kingdom or John Jerome greater pleasure than this indication that their work and worry and constant efforts to save the life of this man, a stranger, but a human being and brother white man still, would be rewarded by seeing him recover. But his tones were so pitifully feeble and his loss of strength so complete, that John turned away, tears in his eyes.
“You are still sick, and must lie very quiet,” Ree answered the unfortunate man in a gentle voice. “You are with friends who will do anything they can for you.”
It seemed to take a full minute for the man’s injured brain to comprehend what was said to him. At last he seemed to remember what had happened. There came a look of great alarm upon his face, and in husky, deeply anxious tones he said, struggling to rise up:
“Hast seen my saddle bags? Where—where are they? Surely—surely—”