"Boy, it's better! No sign of gangrene! We'll save your leg!"
"Pard, I never feared I'd lose that. All I've feared was that I'd be club-footed.... Let me look," replied the cowboy, and he raised himself on his elbow. Wade lifted the unsightly foot.
"My God, it's crooked!" cried Moore, passionately. "Wade, it's healed. It'll stay that way always! I can't move it!... Oh, but Buster Jack's ruined me!"
The hunter pushed him back with gentle hands. "Wils, it might have been worse."
"But I never gave up hope," replied Moore, in poignant grief. "I couldn't. But now!... How can you look at that--that club-foot, and not swear?"
"Well, well, boy, cussin' won't do any good. Now lay still an' let me work. You've had lots of good news this mornin'. So I think you can stand to hear a little bad news."
"What! Bad news?" queried Moore, with a start.
"I reckon. Now listen.... The reason Collie hasn't answered your note is because she's been sick in bed for three weeks."
"Oh no!" exclaimed the cowboy, in amaze and distress.
"Yes, an' I'm her doctor," replied Wade, with pride. "First off they had Mrs. Andrews. An' Collie kept askin' for me. She was out of her head, you know. An' soon as I took charge she got better."