Ross was startled and wondering.
"Belton don't cut any ice."
"But we need the wagon."
The protest, however, was promptly swept aside.
"I tell you it don't cut any ice. I move in a week That's fixed!"
For some moments Steve became deeply absorbed again. Then the watching man saw the decision in his eyes waver, and his lean hand move up to his head, and its fingers pass wearily through his long hair.
Then, quite suddenly, a harsh exclamation broke from him.
"Tchah!" he cried. "What's the use?"
With a great effort he seemed to pull himself together. He raised his eyes, and the pitiful half smile in them wrung the Scotsman's heart.
"Say, Doc, I'm—kind of glad it was you handed me—this. It's hurt you, too. Hurt you pretty bad. Yes," he went on wearily, hopelessly, "pretty bad. But I got to thank you. Oh, yes. I want to thank you. I mean that. For all you've done to help me. But I can't talk about it. I just can't. That's all. I don't guess you need to read the stuff I've written now. You see I'll need to make another report."