"I don't think he'll make any objection. However, we'll go to your quarters and make sure of that, right now. How did he pass the night?"
"Slept well, so O'Hara said. He was still sleeping when a private relieved the sergeant. McGlory," and here the lieutenant turned to the cowboy, "do you feel as much like flying, this morning, as you did last night?"
"Not half so much, Cameron," answered McGlory, with a tightening of his jaws, "but you couldn't keep me out of that flyin' machine with a shotgun. If we join a circus as air navigators, I've got to get used to flying, and I might as well begin right now."
"All right," answered the disappointed lieutenant, "I'll go by train."
The doctor was with Prebbles when Cameron and the boys reached the lieutenant's quarters. What is more, the doctor's face was graver than it had been the preceding afternoon. The old man was throwing himself around on the bed and muttering incoherently.
"Delirious," said the doctor, examining a temperature thermometer; "temperature a hundred and three, and he's as wild as a loon. Newt, Newt, Newt—that's the trend of his talk. You can't understand him, now, but he was talking plain enough when I got here."
"Is the sickness serious?" asked Matt.
"Pneumonia. Know what that is, don't you, Matt? It's hard enough on a person with a good constitution, but in a case like this, where the powers of resistance are almost exhausted, the end is pretty nearly a foregone conclusion. However, we're taking the trouble right at the beginning, and there's a chance I may break it up."
"Get a good nurse for him," said Matt, "and see that he gets all the care possible. The poor old chap was a good friend of mine, once, and I'll bear all the expense."
"Never mind that, Matt," spoke up Cameron. "If Murgatroyd is caught, because of the tip he gave us, the government will be owing Prebbles a lot of money."