He kissed her again, then sank into slumber with the dusk.
CHAPTER XLVII
A TRIBUTE TO THE DESERT
Love is a healer without a rival in the world. Van proved it—Van and Beth, of course, together, with Gettysburg, Dave, and Napoleon to help, and Algy to furnish the sauce. All were present, including Glen and Mrs. Dick, on the summer day of celebration when at last Van came down to dinner. At sight of the wan, wasted figure, Algy, in his characteristic way, fought down his heathen emotions.
"What's mallah you, Van?" he demanded, his face oddly twitching as he spoke. "Makee evlybody sick! That velly superstich! Nobody's got time cly for you come home—makee my dinner spoil!"
He bolted for the kitchen, swearing in loving Chinese.
But with that day passed, Van soon snatched back his own. His strength returned like a thing that was capable of gladness, lodging where it belonged. His spirit had never been dimmed.
Bostwick, who had been detained by the sheriff, faithfully waiting till Van should "get back on his feet," was almost relieved when his day for departure finally dawned. He was dressed, at Van's express desire, in the convict suit which he had worn on the day of his arrival.
Van was on hand when at last the stage, with Bostwick and Christler for passengers, was ready to pull up the street.