“I’ll have him here in half an hour.”
Benson whistled to the dog, and they heard the clattering hoofbeats of the cob’s hurried departure. MacGonigal brought a chair, and sat by his friend’s side.
“Was it a reel tumble, Derry?” he asked softly.
“Seems like it, Mac. Don’t worry your kind old fat head. No one saw me. Let me lie quiet now, there’s a good soul. I’ve done enough thinking for today.”
“Say, Boy, kin yer smoke?”
“No—not till the doc is through.”
MacGonigal bit the end off a cigar, bit it viciously, as if he were annoyed at it. Then he struck a match by drawing it sharply along the side of his leg, and lit the cigar; but not another word did he utter until a thunder of hoofs disturbed the hot silence of the afternoon.
“Guess that’s some of the boys comin’ from the depot,” whispered Mac. “They’ll not suspicion you’re here, Derry, an’ I’ll soon have a stampede by tellin’ ’em the doc is loose among the bottles.”
True to his promise, he got rid of the thirsty ones quickly; for this smaller batch had not even awaited the departure of the train.
“Air you awake, Derry?” he inquired, when he had crept back softly to his chair.