“Still alive,” panted Hozie. “Lonnie, ride to town as fast as yuh can. Get a hack and the doctor. We can’t move him any other way.”
Lonnie ran to his horse, mounted on the run and went racing up the road. It was shady along the road; so they made no effort to move Wheeler. Hozie paced up and down beside the road, his hands clenched.
“Where have you been, Joe?” he asked.
Joe, squatting on his heels beside the road looked up at the old man.
“I was over at the HJ, Hozie.”
“Uh-huh. I wonder if there’s anythin’ we can do? By golly, I never felt so danged helpless in my life. I tell yuh, Joe, he’s awful badly hurt.”
“Awful bad, Hozie. I’m afraid he won’t live to get to town.”
“And we can’t do a thing.”
“Only wait, Hozie. Old Doc Curzon is pretty good. He’ll save Jim if it’s possible.”
It seemed hours before any one came. Len Kelsey and Jack Ralston were the first to arrive. Kelsey looked at Jim Wheeler, listened to what Hozie had to say and then walked up the road, trying to find the spot where Jim had fallen out of his saddle. Ralston squatted on his heels, smoking a cigarette, but had nothing to say.