But The Duke's hand fell upon his shoulder with a grip that must have got to the bone, and in a husky voice he asked:
“Will she live?”
The doctor squirmed, but could not shake off that crushing grip.
“Here, you young tiger, let go! What do you think I am made of?” he cried, angrily. “I didn't suppose I was coming to a bear's den, or I should have brought a gun.”
It was only by the most complete apology that The Duke could mollify the old doctor sufficiently to get his opinion.
“No, she will not die! Great bit of stuff! Better she should die, perhaps! But can't say yet for two weeks. Now remember,” he added sharply, looking into The Duke's woe-stricken face, “her spirits must be kept up. I have lied most fully and cheerfully to them inside; you must do the same,” and the doctor strode away, calling out:
“Joe! Here, Joe! Where is he gone? Joe, I say! Extraordinary selection Providence makes at times; we could have spared that lazy half-breed with pleasure! Joe! Oh, here you are! Where in thunder—” But here the doctor stopped abruptly. The agony in the dark face before him was too much even for the bluff doctor. Straight and stiff Joe stood by the horse's head till the doctor had mounted, then with a great effort he said:
“Little miss, she go dead?”
“Dead!” called out the doctor, glancing at the open window. “Why, bless your old copper carcass, no! Gwen will show you yet how to rope a steer.”
Joe took a step nearer, and lowering his tone said: