“It’s Marino, all right,” Mr. Manley agreed grimly, staring at the dust-streaked face. “Is he hurt? What’s the matter?”
Teddy shook the man gently.
“Are you hurt, Joe?” the boy asked loudly. “Can’t you talk?”
“Talk all right—too tired,” The Pup mumbled. “Not hurt—tired—hungry.” Then for the first time he seemed to realize that he was surrounded by a ring of inquiring, puzzled faces. He pulled himself together and glared haggardly at Teddy, then shifted his gaze to Roy, and finally to Mr. Manley. Suddenly the light of fear came into his eyes, and he leaped to his feet, trembling.
“Don’t—don’t shoot me,” he begged piteously. “I’ll go! But don’t shoot me!”
“No one’s going to shoot you,” Mr. Manley said soothingly. “Here, sit down. Take this blanket. Man, you’re shiverin’ like a leaf. Get closer to the fire—that’s it! Pop rustle up some beans for this feller, will you? He looks half starved.”
“Half starved!” the man gasped, querulously, and sank within himself. “Worse’n that. Three days without food—lost—horse gone—”
Pop Burns brought some cold beans to him, and, hungrily, ravenously, the man reached for them. They watched him while he ate, more like a wild beast than a human being, and later Pop brought him a cup of steaming coffee. When he had finished this he sighed with relief and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice, when again he spoke, was stronger.
“Boss,” he said, turning to Mr. Manley, “I don’t deserve this. By rights you should have thrown me out on my neck. Instead you—” he hesitated, and waved his arm in an expressive gesture—“you treat me like a man instead of like a—a mangy dog.” He gulped, and his listeners shifted uneasily. “I ain’t worth it. I’m a thief—a hoss thief an’ a common robber. Once I— But we’ll let that go. I ain’t got yore money, boss,” he said suddenly, and looked up appealingly. “I ain’t got a cent of it left.”
“You spent it?” Mr. Manley asked sharply.