"Ralph Slade, by the Lord!" he exclaimed.
"Of the Laughing Lass?" cried Trendon.
"Of the Laughing Lass."
Such a fury of eagerness burned in the face of Barnett that Trendon cautioned him. "See here, Mr. Barnett, you're not going to fire a broadside of disturbing questions at my patient yet a while. He's in no condition."
But it was from the other that the questions came. Opening his eyes he whispered, "The sailor? Where?"
"Dead," said Trendon bluntly. Then, breaking his own rule of repression, he asked:
"Did he come off the schooner with you?"
"Picked him up," was the straining answer. "Drifting."
The survivor looked around him, then into Barnett's face, and his mind too, traversed the years.
"North Dakota?" he queried.