"Don't get excited, David," retorted the doctor. "Keep your hair on, or maybe you'll keep your arm from knitting."
He cooked a good meal, gave a little of it to his patient, and devoured the choicer, and by far the larger, share of it himself. Then he lit his pipe and drew a stool close up to the bunk in which David lay.
"You are not fit to move to-night," he said, "so I'll stay here and take you in to-morrow morning. I managed to get my rig through the mud-holes without breaking anything, I guess."
David moved his feet uneasily.
"Guess you'll be chargin' me pretty heavy for this, doc," he returned.
"Don't you worry," returned Nash. "I'll only charge what's fair, Davy. Of course it was quite a serious operation, and a long drive—but don't you worry."
He drew at his pipe for a little while in silence. At last he said: "Maggie Leblanc tells me it was Dick Goodine who worked the dirty trick on you. Is that so?"
"I guess so. Don't see what else. The pole was a good one, far's I know."
"What's the trouble between you and Dick? I didn't know he was that kind."
"Well, we had an argyment a while back. Nothin' serious; but he's a spiteful kind of cuss. Dirty blood in him, I guess."