"How shall I get it, daddy?" the boy cried piteously. "I can't leave you here alone, and I don't believe there's a drop nearer than where we are camped."
"You must leave me, Dick; for you can do no good while staying here, and the thought that help is coming, even though there may be many hours to wait, will give me strength. Can you find your way to the camp and back after nightfall?"
"I'll do it somehow, daddy! I'll do it!"
"Then set out at once, and bring one of the horses back with you. I should be able to ride four miles, or even twice that distance, since it is to save my life."
"But you'll keep up a brave heart, daddy dear, won't you? Don't think you are going to die; but remember that mother and I, and even little Margie, will do all we can to pull you through."
"I know it, Dick, I know it. You are a good lad—far better than I have been father; and if it should chance that when you come back I've gone from this world, remember that you are the only one to whom the mother and baby can look for protection."
"You know I'd always take care of them; but I am going to save you, daddy dear. People have gotten over worse wounds than this, and once you are at the camp we will stay in Buffalo Meadows till it is possible for you to ride. I'll look out for the whole outfit, and from this on you sha'n't have a trouble, except because of the wound."
"Give me your hand, my boy, and now go; for strong as may be my will, I can't stand the loss of much more blood. God bless you, Dick, and remember that I always loved you, even though I never provided for you as a father should have done."
Dick hastily cleared the mist from his eyes, and without speaking darted forward in the direction where he believed the wagon would be found, breaking the sage-brush as he ran in order that he might make plain the trail over which he must return.