Buller winced. "Trap. Foxes after my hens. I set a trap to catch them."
"And got caught in it yourself! Huh! That's sometimes the way. Here, swallow this down. It'll dull the pain some. Now is the time you may wish you weren't a drinking man, Buller. I'll do the best I can for you, but you've given yourself a nasty hurt, and your blood's not in a state to help the healing along much. However, we'll see what we'll see. I'll give you these extra drops to take home with you. Use them if the pain comes back. Don't meddle with my bandage, d'you hear. Leave it alone. And, let me see you in the morning. Now, Mr. Slawson—— Ready!"
Again that swift, almost silent speeding through the night.
Since Buller's torture had ceased, the motion seemed for him part of a blissful dream, by which he was being gradually lulled to deeper and deeper peace. At first he started in to babble fatuously, but Dr. Driggs brusquely bade him, "Shut up! This is no time for merrymaking!" and he dropped back into himself, subdued but not suppressed.
At the big house Sam stopped his car.
"I'll take Buller home, and come back for you," he explained to Dr. Driggs.
"Better dump him out on the road," was the harsh, whispered rejoinder. "I know him from the ground up. He lied to me about his hand. He was up to deviltry of some kind, other than trapping foxes, depend upon it! Between you and me, that's a fierce hand he's got. I don't envy him his dance with it."
In the meantime, Martha had found Claire Ronald feverish and excited. It did not take her long to decide she would not leave the big house that night. When Sam returned to take him home, Dr. Driggs was not ready to go. Neither was Martha.
"But you'd better turn in, Slawson," advised Mr. Ronald. "No use in everybody's getting worn out. If I should need you, I'll call you up."
Early next morning the young kitchen-maid from the big house appeared at the Lodge door for certain necessaries Martha wanted and could not be spared long enough to come, herself, and fetch.