“But won’t you take the hand?” she whispered, all eager desire to help. “It’s not a very strong one, I’m afraid, but it’s ever so willing.”
He took it, literally, and looked down at it where it lay in his. “I’m taking it, you see. Don’t blame yourself if it can’t pull the scalawag out of the mire. Facilis descensus Averni, you know.”
“Is your trouble so far beyond help?” she murmured, and in her eyes he read the leap of her sweet and gallant soul toward him. “I can’t believe it. Surely there can’t be any sorrow or distress that friendship won’t lighten. If you’ll let me in where you are—if you won’t shut me out by freezing yourself up—”
The honk of an automobile horn had drawn Forbes to the window, from which point of observation he was reporting progress to his employer.
“Reckon it’s the sheriff an’ Doc Rayburn.... Yep. They’re gettin’ outa the car an’ comin’ in.” He turned to Reed. “What about this fellow here? What’s the play we’re makin’ to Daniels?”
“That he came to warn us, but got here too late. I’ll do the talking, Lon.”
A fat little man with a medicine case in his hand bustled into the room. At his heels moved a big blond cattleman whose faded blue eyes were set in a face of brown leather.
“What’s the trouble? What’s the trouble?” fumed the doctor. It was his habit of mind and manner to effervesce.
“Some tramps set fire to my wheat and shot me up, Doc. Nothing worth putting in the papers, I reckon,” answered the ranchman easily.
“Let’s see about that. Let’s see,” the doctor said with his little touch of pomposity.