Claim Number One Part 42

"Will he--lapse again?" asked the Governor, balancing between hope and fear.

"It isn't likely. You may go in and speak to him now if you want to. But he must keep still. A little exertion might start a hemorrhage."

Jerry Boyle lay upon his back, his bloodless face toward them, as they gathered noiselessly in the door of the tent. His eyes were standing open, great and questioning, out of his pallor, nothing but the animal quality of bewilderment and fear in their wide stare.

Governor Boyle went in and dropped to his knees beside the cot. Dr.

Slavens followed hastily, and placed his hand on the wounded man's breast.

"You may listen," said he; "but keep still."

"Don't even try to whisper," admonished the Governor, taking his son's hand between his own.

"That's all right, Governor," replied the young man, his face quickening with that overrunning little crinkling, like wind over water, which was his peculiar gift for making his way into the hearts of women and men, unworthy as he was.

"Be still!" commanded the old man. "I know what happened. There's nothing to say now."

"Did I get him?" whispered Jerry, turning his head a little and looking eagerly into his father's face.

The Governor placed his hand over his son's mouth, silencing the young man with a little hissing sound, like a mother quieting her babe.

Agnes turned away, the disgust which she felt for this savage spirit of the man undisguised in her face. Dr Slavens cautioned the Governor again.

"If he says another word, you'll have to leave him," said he. "This is one case where talk will turn out anything but cheap."

He joined Agnes, and together they walked away from the scene of violence and death.

"You're tired to death," said he. "I'm going to take possession of Boyle's tent down there for you, and you've got to take a long sleep.

After that we'll think about the future."

She walked on beside him, silent and submissive, interposing no objection to his plan. They found the tent very well equipped; he started to leave her there to her repose. She stood in the door with her hat in her hand, her hair in disorder, dust over her dress and shoes.

"Could you send word to Smith by the stage this morning and ask him to bring my things--tent and everything--down here?" she asked.

"Then you're not planning to go back there?" he asked, his heart jumping with hope.

She shook her head, smiling wanly.

"I can't bear the thought of it," said she.

CHAPTER XX

A SUDDEN CLOUD

Dr. Slavens went back to his camp, concluding on the way that it would be wise to have a complete understanding with Governor Boyle in regard to taking further charge of his son's case. If, after three days allowed for infection to manifest itself, the wound remained healthy and clean, there would be little need of a doctor in constant attendance. Young Boyle would be able to express his preference in the matter then, and Slavens did not want to act as physician to him against his will.

Governor Boyle was walking up and down like a sentry before the tent when Dr. Slavens came up.

"He's asleep," said the father. "He seems to be pitifully weak for a man suffering from a fresh wound; he dropped off as if he had fainted."

"When you consider that a bullet of that caliber, with the powder back of it that this one had, strikes somewhere around a ton," said the doctor, "it ceases to be a wonder that he is weak."

"It's Heaven's mercy that spared him!" declared the Governor, his voice troubled with emotion.

Slavens wondered at the deep affection which this man of so hard a repute could show for his son, and at the tie of tenderness which plainly bound them. But precedent is not wanting, as the doctor reflected, to establish the contention that some of the world's greatest oppressors have been good fathers, kind husbands, and tender guardians of the home.

"Yes; Shanklin shot twice," said Slavens. "It was his second one that hit, after he had been mortally hurt himself."

"It was the hand of Providence that turned his aim!" said the Governor.

"The old one-eyed villain had the reputation of being the best shot in the Northwest. He provoked my son to draw on him, or tried to at least--for I can't believe that Jerry drew first--with the intention of putting him out of the way."

"What do you propose to do about bringing another surgeon here?" asked Dr. Slavens.

"Why, I hadn't given it any serious thought," answered Governor Boyle, looking at him quickly.

"It would please me better to have you do so."

"But I have entire confidence in your ability to handle the case, sir.

Your conduct in the matter has been admirable, and I see no reason why you should not continue to attend my son until--the end, one way or the other."

"You understand, Governor," said Dr. Slavens gravely, searching the old man's face with steady eyes, "that there is no ground for good feeling or friends.h.i.+p between your son and me?"

The Governor nodded, averting his face, as if the acknowledgment gave him pain or shame.

"And in case that everything should not turn out to the happiest conclusion for him, I should not want to stand the chance of blame."

"Quite sensible, but unnecessarily cautious, I tell you," the Governor replied.

"I have done all that a better surgeon could have done," pursued the doctor, "and I am quite willing to go ahead and do all that can be done until you can bring another physician here, to relieve me, or at least satisfy you that I have not allowed any feeling of man to man to stand between physician and patient."

"Very well; I will telegraph to Cheyenne for a physician," agreed the Governor, "since it is your wish. But I am entirely satisfied with, and trustful of you, sir. That I desire you to understand plainly."

Dr. Slavens thanked him.

"I shall send for the other physician to act merely in an advisory capacity, and in no manner to relieve you of the case unless you desire to be relieved. But I think it will be to your interest to stand by me.

I feel that I am under a certain obligation to you, more especially to Miss Gates, for my son's----"

"We will not discuss that, if you please," Dr. Slavens interrupted.

"At least I will stand by what I said to you a little while back," the Governor said; "that is, in the matter of remuneration, if you pull him through."

"All of that in its proper place," said the doctor. "I am going back to Comanche now to send for the boy's mother," the Governor announced, "and telegraph to Cheyenne for the doctor of whom I spoke. I have known him for many years. I'll have some more tents and camp-supplies sent out, and anything that you stand in need of which can be procured in Comanche."

Dr. Slavens gave him a list of articles needed in the patient's case, and the Governor rode away. The undertaker from Comanche arrived a little later, and took Hun Shanklin's body up from the ground. When his wagon, on its return to Comanche, had pa.s.sed the tent where Agnes was trying to sleep, she got up and joined Dr. Slavens.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained. "Every time I shut my eyes I could see that poor old gambler's body lying there with the coat over his face!"