“But he’ll git around to-night,” Joe had said, after bringing the news to Diane. “Sure—sure as pinewood breeds bugs.”
And the girl was satisfied. The day wore on, and night brought no fresh anxiety. Diane was at her post, Joe was alert, and though no one had heard of Arizona’s return, twice, in the small hours, the choreman heard a footfall outside his lean-to, and he made a shrewd guess as to whose it was.
The second and third day passed satisfactorily, but still Tresler displayed no sign of life. He lay on the bed just as he had been originally placed there. Each day the brusque little doctor drove out from Forks, and each day he went back leaving little encouragement behind him. Before he went away, after his third visit, he shook his head gravely in response to the nurse’s eager inquiries.
“He’s got to get busy soon,” he said, as he returned his liniments and medical stores to his bag. “Don’t like it. Bad—very bad. Nature exhausting. He must rouse soon—or death. Three days——Tut, tut! Still no sign. Cheer up, nurse. Give him three more. Then drastic treatment. Won’t come till he wakes—no use. Send for me. Good girl. Stick to it. Sorry. Good-bye.”
And patting Diane on the back the man bustled out in his jerky fashion, leaving her weeping over the verdict he had left behind.
It was the strain of watching that had unnerved her. She was bodily and mentally weary. Her eyes and head ached with the seemingly endless vigil. Three days and nights and barely six hours’ sleep over all, and those only snatched at broken intervals.
And now another night confronted her. So overwrought was she that she even thought of seeking the aid old Joe had proffered. She thought quite seriously of it for some moments. Could she not smuggle him up-stairs after her father had had his supper and retired to his bedroom? She had no idea that Joe had, secretly, spent almost as much time on the watch as she had done. However, she came to no actual decision, and went wearily down and prepared the evening meal. She waited on the blind man in her usual patient, silent manner, and afterward went back to the kitchen and prepared to face the long dreary night.
Joe was finishing the washing-up. He was longer over it than usual, though he had acquired a wonderful proficiency in his culinary duties since he was first employed on the ranch. Diane paid little heed to him, and as soon as her share of the work was finished, prepared to retire up-stairs.
“There’s just the sweeping up, Joe,” she said. “When you’ve finished that we are through. I must go up to him.”
Joe glanced round from his washing-trough, but went on with his work.