It drew a groan from the rancher.
"But there is still some hope."
The doctor shook his head and carefully unwound the bandages. He examined the wound with care, and then made a dressing, and recovered the little purple spot, so small that a five-cent piece would have covered it.
"Tell me!" demanded Drew, as Young turned at length.
"The bullet passed right through the body, eh?"
"Yes."
"He ought to have been dead hours ago. I can't understand it. But since he's still alive we'll go on hoping."
"Hope?" whispered Drew.
It was as if he had received the promise of heaven, such brightness fell across his haggard face.
"There's no use attempting to explain," answered Young. "An ordinary man would have died almost instantly, but the lungs of some of these rangers seem to be lined with leather. I suppose they are fairly embalmed with excessive cigarette smoking. The constant work in the open air toughens them wonderfully. As I said, the chances are about one out of ten, but I'm only astonished that there is any chance at all."