“I intended to give it to you, Barney,” she replied as quietly. “You will do nothing rash, I am sure, and you always know best.”
Barney opened the telegram and read, “'Mexico' shot. Bullet not found. Wants doctor to come if possible.”
“Dr. Cotton is not in?” inquired Barney.
“He is gone up the Big Horn.”
“We can't possibly get him to-night,” replied Barney.
Silently they looked at each other, thinking rapidly. They each knew that the other was ready to do the best, no matter at what cost.
“Take my temperature, Margaret.” It was nine-nine and one-fifth. “That's not bad,” said Barney. “Margaret, I must go. It's for 'Mexico's' life. Yes, and more.”
Margaret turned slightly pale. “You know best, Barney,” she said, “but it may be your life, you know.”
“Yes,” he replied gravely. “I take that chance. But I think I ought to take it, don't you?” But Margaret refused to speak. “What do you think, Margaret?” he asked.
“Oh, Barney!” she cried, with passionate protest, “why should you give your life for him?”