Texas Joe quietly forced him back on his pillow.
“You’ve got to take it easy for a little
while, Mr. Holmes. Get a grip on yourself and
tell us plain what happened. We’ll move
fast enough when we know which way to go.”
When Holmes had told them briefly the story of the
fight in Devil’s Canyon and how he had left
Abe at Wolf Wells, Texas said: “Now Mr.
Holmes, you just keep quiet right here. Barbara’ll
take care of you and we’ll have Abe home before
noon to-morrow. Also, we’ll arrange for
a little seance with them greasers what put you and
Abe in this fix.”
An hour later a light spring wagon with four horses,
accompanied by a party of five mounted men, moved
swiftly out of Republic toward the south.
BARBARA’S WAITIN’ BREAKFAST FOR YOU.
Alone on the desert, Abe Lee waited through the long,
long hours of the night for the morning and relief.
At times the wounded surveyor sank into half unconsciousness
when he would again be riding—riding—riding,
toward San Felipe that seemed almost so far away that
he could never hope to reach the end of his journey.
Again he would be at the hotel surrounded by a crowd
of people, who stared at him curiously as the clerk
explained that Jefferson Worth had never been there—that
there was no money—no money—no
money. At other times he would be fighting desperately
with James Greenfield for the possession of a black
leather bill-book secured with rubber bands, or—with
the Company engineer—would face a crowd
of Mexicans in Devil’s Canyon in such numbers
that he could not count them, but could only fight,
and fight, and fight. Often Barbara came to plead
with him to save her from some terrible danger, and
when he would struggle to go a great weight held him
down and he could not—and the brown eyes
looked at him full of pleading reproach. Then
he would curse and cry aloud as Willard Holmes came
to take her away and he would watch the two riding
into the distance through the green fields and orchards
of a beautiful land, in their happiness forgetting
him alone in the desert.
At other times, fully conscious, he lay with aching
body and that sharp pain in his leg, looking up at
the stars, calculating the time and the distance Holmes
had ridden since he left him—how long it
would be until the engineer would reach Republic—wondering
if Tex and Pat could hold the strikers or if already
it was too late.
Then again, when his mind would be losing its grip
and slipping away into the land of half-dreams, the
sounds made by some animal at the water hole or the
fancied approach of the Mexicans would cause him to
start into keen readiness, to listen and watch with
straining sense and ready weapon. At last all
knowledge of time left him. His exhausted nerves
and muscles no longer responded to suggestions of
danger, his brain refused to act. A soft, thick
cloud of darkness that was not the darkness of the
night settled down upon him, enveloped him, wrapped
him as in a sable blanket of many folds—
thicker and thicker, blacker and blacker. Feebly
he struggled against it for a little, then with a
sigh yielded and lay still.
