“They couldn’t move if they tried. Oh, my God––if I were only myself again!”
“Never waste words wishing, young man. I’ll get them. But you must give me your promise to wait here. Will you be prudent and wait?”
“Yes, yes.”
“You’ll be stronger before you know it, and then you’ll want to leave, you know, and go for them yourself. Don’t do that. I’ll give your horse a bit more to eat and drink, and tie him again, then there’ll be no need for you to leave this bunk until to-morrow. I’m to follow the trail you came up by, and not leave it until I come to––whoever it is? Right. Do you give me your word, no matter how long gone I may be, not to leave my place here until I return, or send?”
“Oh, yes, yes.”
“Good. I’ll trust you. There’s a better reason than I care to give you for this promise, young man. It’s not a bad one.”
The big man then made his preparations rapidly, pausing now and then to give the stranger instructions as to where to find provisions and how to manage there by himself, and inquiring carefully as to the party he was to find. He packed saddlebags with supplies, and water flasks, and, as he moved about, continued to question and admonish.
“By the time I get back you’ll be as well as ever you were. A couple of days––and you’ll be fuming round instead of waiting in patience––that’s what I tell you. I’ll fetch them––do you hear? I’ll do it. Now what’s 176 your name? Harry King? Harry King––very well, I have it. And the party? Father and mother and daughter. Family party. I see. Big fools, no doubt. No description needed, I guess. Bird? Name Bird? No. McBride,––very good. Any name with a Mac to it goes on this mountain––that means me. I’m the mountain. Any one I don’t want here I pack off down the trail, and vice versa.”
Harry King lay still and heard the big man ride away. He heard his own horse stamping and nickering, and heaving a great sigh of relief his muscles relaxed, and he slept soundly on his hard bed. For hours he had fought off this terrible languor with a desperation born of terror for those he had left behind him, who looked to him as their only hope. Now he resigned their fate to the big man whose eyes had looked so kindly into his, with a childlike feeling of rest and content. He lay thus until the sun rose high in the heavens the next morning, when he was awakened by the insistent neighing of his horse which had risen almost to a cry of fear.
“Poor beast. Poor beast,” he muttered. His vocal chords seemed to have stiffened and dried, and his attempt to call out to reassure the animal resulted only in a hoarse croak. He devoured the meat of the little quail left in the jar and drank the few remaining drops of broth, then crawled out to look after the needs of his horse before making further search for food for himself. He gathered all his little strength to hold the frantic creature, maddened with hunger, and tethered him where he could graze for half an hour, then fetched him water as the big man had done, a little at a time in the great dipper.