Dick ceased his questioning, and set about performing such work around the camp as might well have been left undone until the next day.
A generous supply of broiled venison was made ready, and the boy ate heartily; after which he went into the wagon, telling his mother he would play the part of nurse until dark, when she could take his place.
Once in the vehicle, partially screened from view, Dick, after much search for the bit of a lead-pencil his father owned, wrote on a piece of brown paper that had contained the last ten pounds of flour Mr. Stevens had purchased, the following words,—
Dear Mother,—I know you won't let me go to Antelope Spring if I tell you about what I'm minded to do, so I shall slip off the first thing in the morning. I'll take my rifle with me, and by selling it, get what stuff daddy needs. I can talk with a doctor too; and when I come back we'll fix the poor old man up in great shape.
Don't worry about me, for I can get across without any bother. I'm going to take the canteen and some slices of meat, so I sha'n't be hungry or thirsty. I count on being back in three days; but if I'm gone five you mustn't think anything has gone wrong, for it may be a longer trip than I'm reckonin' on.
I love you, and daddy, and Margie mighty well; and this footing it across the desert ain't half as dangerous as you think for.
Your son,
Dickey.
When this had been done, he kissed his father twice, smoothed the hair back from the pale, damp forehead, and whispered,—
"I'm going so's you'll get well, my poor old man; and you mustn't make any kick, 'cause it's got to be done."
Then he came out as if tired of playing the nurse, and proposed that he sleep under the wagon that night.
"With all hands inside, daddy would be crowded; and I'm as well off out-of-doors. Kiss me, mother, for I'm mighty tired."