“Trust!” broke in the cow-puncher. “Why, Doc, it is the best turn yu' ever done me. I know I am a man now—if my nerve ain't gone.”
“I've known you were a man since I knew you!” said the hearty Governor. And he helped the still unsteady six-foot to a chair. “As for your nerve, I'll bring you some whiskey now. And after”—he glanced at the bed—“and tomorrow you'll go try if Miss Jessamine won't put the nerve—”
“Yes, Doc, I'll go there, I know. But don't yu'—don't let's while she's—I'm going to be glad about this, Doc, after awhile, but—”
At the sight of a new-comer in the door, he stopped in what his soul was stammering to say. “What do you want, Judge?” he inquired, coldly.
“I understand,” began Slaghammer to Barker—“I am informed—”
“Speak quieter, Judge,” said the cow-puncher.
“I understand,” repeated Slaghammer, more official than ever, “that there was a case for the coroner.”
“You'll be notified,” put in McLean again. “Meanwhile you'll talk quiet in this room.”
Slaghammer turned, and saw the breathing mass on the bed.
“You are a little early, Judge,” said Barker, “but—”